


Last Farewell

by yunabi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Backstories Galore, Battle of Five Armies, F/M, Halls of Mandos, Some Backstory, THE SLOWEST BUILD UP EVER, Thranduil's wife - Freeform, What Have I Done, lots of headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunabi/pseuds/yunabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Only once has Mandos been moved from pity. And only once has he been moved from compassion.</i><br/>Fate can be cruel, but sometimes it is also kind. For second chances are rare, but not unheard of. </p><p>For the Elvenking who only knew only once of love but lost it, had closed his heart off many centuries ago—never wanting to reopen old wounds.<br/>And for the love that had once been lost, not once ever losing hope.</p><p>What would happen if they were to meet once more-- this time under different circumstances?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Promise - Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Bo5A.

_It’s such a pity._ His thoughts lingered within the corners of his mind as his eyes clouded over in sadness and in anguish at the scene surrounding him. Pools of crimson painted the cold pavement, an art piece created by the hundreds of corpses of the slain. It pained the Elvenking to see so many of his lifeless kin strewn out before him, their bodies like broken marionettes— strings cut, never to perform again. His footsteps came to a halt as his eyes traced the path of his son who had just walked away from him moments before— and with his son, was Tauriel, the defiant captain of the guard to his army. She had turned her own bow against him and if it wasn’t for Legolas’ timely intervention, she most likely would have faced the unyielding wrath of his blades, joining the two pieces of her bow that lay broken at his feet. To think that he would sacrifice the rest of his army, to set them up for slaughter, for the company of Thorin Oakenshield -- for the sake of _love_ was almost a laughable matter. Too much elvish blood had been shed that day and he could not bear to see any more lives of his people lost. His retreat would have gone according to plan . . . had it not been for Tauriel’s defiance-- and the defense of her actions by his son, Legolas.

“We shall return,” came the simple words from his lips.

“My Lord?”

“This battle is not yet over,”

For Legolas’ sake, he would lead his army back into the fray. And for Legolas’ sake, he would continually cut down anyone who stood in his way. One less orc alive meant one less thing to worry about his son’s safety. He knew it was selfish, and he knew it required sacrifice, but what is kingdom without a king? And what is a king without an heir? He would be sure that no matter the outcome, that his son would make it out of the battle alive-- no matter the cost.

He had made a promise many moons ago and he wasn’t planning on break it. Most certainly not here, not now-- not in a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking some creative liberties in the Tolkien world and inserted a few headcanons in as well. Based more off the movie version of BoFA to tie up some loose ends. Will introduce more characters in later chapters. But the basic premise, without giving a lot away, will be focusing Thranduil, his wife, some backstory, and of course, a twist of fate that brings both together again. (There is a catch, as always) First time writing something for the Hobbit/LoTR series, so there will be several hiccups on the way, I'd imagine, but I always welcome feedback! :) 
> 
> Going to try to stay as close to Tolkien canon as possible. Obviously, there're going to be a times where I may stray from it, but hopefully it'll work. First few chapters might be confusing at first because I probably should have written a prequel before starting this series off, but I'm still working on the backstory/family trees and what have you to do that, so I'm going to start off with this story for now, and perhaps once everything gets set into stone, maybe I'll add prequel to this with further backstory to the characters that come into play.
> 
>  **Headcanon #1** : Thranduil stayed for the remainder of the BoFA, mainly because of Legolas (plus it kinda makes more sense at the scene at the end where he shows up -- would have been kinda awkward if he left then came back tbh)


	2. An Encounter

A stinging sensation came across his cheek as red liquid split from the wound that had been inflicted. With a triumphant thud, the body of the slain orc fell to the ground, sliding out from under the silver blades which had pierced it. Killing the foul creature seemed like child’s play, but it wasn’t without consequence. For a split second, he had gotten careless, and just a mere second could have cost him his head. It was a rare lapse in judgement, and he would make sure that it wouldn’t be made a second time.

“My Lord, are you injured?” Feren, one of his chief lieutenants who finished off cutting down his own orc, rushed up to him at once. But before Thranduil could reply, there was a huge clatter, followed by a thud, followed by a voice.

 _“Boe de nestad!”_ amidst the din chaos surrounding the city of Dale and through the battle cries, the solitary evlish phrase caught the Elvenking’s attention. His blue hues turned from his lieutenant’s face towards the sound of the female voice. And through all the bloodshed and combat, briefly- very briefly, through axes colliding and people falling, his gaze was met by a pair of kind blue-gray eyes. The split second connection was short lived before the gazes and attentions of both were turned towards their each respective tasks at hand; hers towards the entrance of the Great Halls, and his, back towards Feren. However, a lingering sentiment remained with him long after eye connection was broken. Innate warmth. Reminiscent of melting snow after a long winter-- when winter thawed into spring. A lost memory flickered from within him, something that had not been touched in what seemed like forever; they reminded of something . . . the reminded him of --- The thought was cut short by a string of arrows flying past him-- the crumpling sounds heard moments after, indicating that they hit their mark. And thus he was snapped back to reality, away from his meandering thoughts. There was a war at hand, and yet, unbeknownst to the Elvenking, the gears to something that had been drawn shut many years ago had slowly started to turn once again inside him.

“I don’t recall us asking for any healers,” he commented, nodding towards where he had last seen the female elf- towards the great hall where the residents of what used to be Laketown had taken refuge in before they all rallied into the warzone. Her words, something that stood out to them.

“My Lord, they are from Imladris, from the company of Lord Elrond,” came the reply.

“We never requested such support from the elves in Imladris”, his footsteps turned towards the Great Hall, making his way towards what he could see, a makeshift treatment center for the wounded. He had not asked for such assistance nor was expecting any presence from anyone, so any ‘help’ from the elves of Rivendell was duly noted, but with apprehension. After all, in his mind, every move by every party in Middle Earth had an ulterior motive to it, nothing was done for free. Surely they would want something in return, but the question was . . .  what?

“They said that they are simply here to tend to the wounded, My Lord” there was a pause to cut down a rogue orc as the pair neared the entrance of the Great Halls and the younger elf echoed his original question as they stepped foot into the chambers of what was a hall turned into some sort of healing ground, “Are you injured? If you are, perhaps they could be of service”

It appeared to be a day of many interruptions and unanswered questioned for the pair was interrupted by a third voice before a reply was to be made.

“Might I be of service to you, Elvenking Thranduil, Son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realms?” the newcomer bowed in recognition of the armorclad king, his tone was very light and amiable. Thranduil’s eyes met a pair of teal orbs, their owner, a male elf with a rather bemused expression on his face. His expression, however, was not mirrored by the Elvenking.

“You appear to know of my name, but unfortunately I know not of yours,” a curt reply was given, but the younger elf seemed to be unaffected by the steely tones of Thranduil’s voice. His alliance was with Bard’s men alone, the sudden appearance of uninvited company had greatly aroused his suspicions.

“That’d be Aenor, my Lord.” The younger elf nodded towards the other handful of elves present at the scene, “We hail from Imladris, we are but a few of the company of the great Lord Elrond,”

“It was my understanding that Lord Elrond did not wish to fight this war-- I thought he had deemed it . . . unwise?”

“Lord Elrond has no knowledge of our presence here. We are here on our own accord."

A new voice interjected, seeming to challenge his own. And once again, the soft hues of blue-gray met the ones of cool ice. They were those eyes again. Whether she knew who she was the presence of or not, the female elf gave no acknowledgement towards Thranduil’s title. The male elf called Aenor, seemed to take her presence as a note to go back to his duties, quietly excusing himself from the group and making his way towards the back of the Great Hall.

Unconvinced, Thranduil raised a brow of doubt, but before he could speak, the female continued, “We are simply here to aid the injured, to possibly save some lives from all the bloodshed . . .” the melancholy tunes of her voice trailed off, her eyes turning from him and signaling to the wounded in the halls. Thranduil’s eyes followed her gaze towards a citizen of Laketown in the back of the rundown chambers, from what it looked like the man’s arm had been severed off by what he presumed was an axe of an Gundabad orc.

“He is mortal” he stated. But his steely tone seemed to insinuate a different message: _Mortal men are destined to die._

A flicker of amusement passed over her eyes, almost as if she found his underlying statement comical, “Mortal he may be, but a life is still a life. And all life should be cherished.”

He raised a brow once more, “Then are you to say, that even a dwarf’s life should be cherished, should be saved -- when it was their kin who started this war?” his eyes shifted back towards the now crumbling city of Dale and the mass chaos that surrounded it.

“I wouldn’t look down upon the mortal life so quickly. For they know how valuable each life is and they won’t be willing to give up such a thing without a fight.”

 _But why?_ he wanted to ask. And it was almost as if she had read his mind, for she continued her train of thought.

“We all will experience hardship in our lives, but we will experience happiness and joy as well. For those who are mortal, they are taught to hold onto those memories that they make throughout their lifetime dear to their heart. I have heard their screams of pain, some filled with regrets, others, with memories. They are not yet willing to leave this land. If they have the will to fight and to hold onto that life that they hold so dear, is it not wrong to help write a book that has not yet been finished?”

“It’s a foolish sentiment to hold. Wouldn’t it be easier to end their misery than to see them suffer until the bitter end?” A delicate shade of red flushed her cheeks at his words, “It is not that I doubt your abilities--

“Have you no compassion?”

“I am merely stating what is yet to come. You cannot change a _mortal’s_ fate.”

She looked at him incredulously, “Are you to say, that the life of an elf is more valuable than the life of a man or of a dwarf simply because they will eventually die?”

There was no response from the elvenking, for his reply was written over his face. _Yes._

Incredible. It was just incredible. Whether it was arrogance or mere ignorance, her eyes stared in disbelief as she could not believe how sour the conversation had turned, granted both parties were on the defensive to start with, so there wasn’t much that the two clashing personalities could salvage. It was well known that elves tended to hold their own kin at a higher ground compared to the other races, but this to her, was simply ridiculous.

“Have you no _sympathy_? Have you _love_ in you?“

Now it was his turn to be rendered speechless. That phrase came unexpectedly. It was now twice in the same day that the same question (granted they were worded differently) had been directed in such a scathing manner towards him. And it caught him off guard.

_“There is no love in you”_

The memory of Tauriel’s words resonated in his head once more as silence filled their conversation. It was, however, quickly broken as the female interjected her opinion once more.

“Just because we may live forever does not justify your claim. It doesn’t justify that one race is superior than the other. Life isn’t about the longevity, it’s about how you live it. It’s about the experiences and feelings you keep from the memories you make. I would much rather have a fulfilling life of a mortal than that of an _ignorant, egocentric_ elf.”

His eyes flared dangerously at her accusing words, directing a rather piercing glare towards the female elf’s direction. Who did she think she was to mock him? Did she not know her place in front of him? A king? He had to admire her tenacity for she remained unperturbed by the rage of the Elvenking—there was no indication whatsoever that he was in fact, glaring daggers in her direction.

Feren, who had been standing alongside his King watching the whole conversation in silence, shifted uncomfortably, not quite knowing if it was his place to speak up. Thranduil’s temper was not to be trifled with, and from what he could clearly see, the elven lady was not helping the situation one bit. But right as younger elf was about to open his mouth to diffuse the rising tension in the room, a fourth voice called out from the back of the halls.

“Come, Esteliel.”

At the sound of her name, all three pairs of eyes glance towards the direction of the voice. This time, their view was directed to a wounded solider in the far corners of the Great Hall, one of Thranduil’s own kin that was being tended to, and injured Mirkwood elf. Without any other words exchanged, the female elf simply turned towards her companion’s voice and walked forward to answer her call, not without pausing and turning back to face the still somewhat thunderstruck Elvenking, “May we meet again, King Thranduil-- perhaps next time, under better circumstances.”

And for the second time that day, Thranduil was left only to stare in silence at the trail left by yet another rather disagreeable woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Boe de nestad_ \- He/she needs healing
> 
> Due to me being the most indecisive person ever to create names, Feren (thankfully) is an elf that appeared in BoFA so (thankfully, again), it was one less name to come up with.
> 
> Esteliel - Means 'Daughter of Hope' ; this may or may not come into play in future chapters.
> 
> In terms of elven reincarnation, slightly shifting from Tolkien-verse and will be explained further in later chapters.


	3. A Goodbye

How many years had it been? Hundreds? Or perhaps thousands? As much as he had tried to suppress the thoughts, his attempts were all futile. _‘No love in you’_ It was those words that had struck him to the core, releasing a wave of old memories that he had tried to keep hidden away in the Pandora box that had once been his heart. Yet the words held merit. There was once a time where his heart had been filled with joy and love, there was once a time where there were no burdens or scars that were etched. It was a time of tranquility and fond memories. And then, in an instant, everything changed.

There were many questions he had asked himself the following days after her death, filled with all the ‘what ifs’ that could have happened. What if he had been there in time? What if he hadn’t waited?. . . What if things were _different_? It was one of the few times that his composure was lost—his foundation shattered, and the very essence of him seemed to crumble. Guilt had riddled his consciousness for days, and he couldn’t bear to forgive himself.  For deep down he believed that his actions were the cause of the unchangeable outcome. And as a result, his grief didn’t last mere days-- it extended for centuries. His steely exterior was a mere facade for the pain and emptiness that filled his heart. But time moved on and the seasons changed. Springtime turned summer to autumn and into winter, and winter into spring once more. How many springs had passed before the pangs of sadness in his chest had left him? How many winters had passed before his heart had been encrusted with ice? _Not long enough._

So while yes, there was a time when he knew once of love, the Elvenking knew of love no more. It would have stayed that way had it not been for his son and a promise he had once made to _her_. So for the sake of Mirkwood, for the sake of his son, and for _her_ sake, he forced himself to remain strong, to bury all the memories of what happened somewhere deep down in him where it would lay at rest. After all, he promised her that he would not lose himself in grief, that he wouldn’t fade-- that he would remain as vigorous as the spring in which he was named after.

Yet after those centuries of repressing those memories, the mere words by the two female elves had brought a surge of lost thoughts and old regrets rushing back from the depths in which he had so meticulously buried them.

He never once mentioned her in the presence of Legolas-- only telling him that his _Nana_ was off onto a better life where nothing could harm her anymore. But as the prince grew older, Thranduil suspected that others within his company had told the elven prince the details (as few as there were) of that battle in Gundabad, and the heartbreak Thranduil had experienced thereafter, for the questions about his mother slowly by surely ceased to be brought up once the elfling had grown up. Whether Legolas actually knew about the Battle of Gundabad or not, the prince seemed to respect his father’s boundaries on the subject, never once mentioning his mother again for he understood that it would only cause more harm than good. But the young prince also held a grief of his own, despite Thranduil raising him into the grown elf that he had become now (and there was no doubt that the ElvenKing had raised him well), sometimes the elven prince could only wonder what a mother’s love was like. For he never really did have many memories of her since she passed when he was not yet old enough to understand death. Too young to remember the warmth touch from a mother’s embrace, and too young to understand that those kisses on his forehead on that unforgiving day would be the last time they would see each other.

Stray beams of sunlight broke through the clouds, cutting his nostalgia short. With the fall of the orcan leaders, and the appearance of new reinforcement meant that the battle had been won. There was no celebration though, for the end of war simply meant it was a time to salvage of what was left; for the wounded to be healed, and the dead to be buried. There was no happiness in war.

“Feren, ensure that our injured are tended to,” his eyes turned towards Ravenhill where he had last seen his son and Tauriel disappear off to warn the dwarves of the impending dangers.

“And what of you, my Lord?’

“I have other matters to attend to,” and there was only one thought that crossed his mind.

_Ionneg, Legolas._

 

* * *

 

All that could be done had been done. For the injured, it was now a testament to their own inner strength as to if they had the will to live on, or if not, pass into the other life. The news of the eagles had been one that was greatly welcome, the winged beasts quickly taking care of the majority of the orcan and warg army. And with the eagles came an even more formidable foe—Beorn, who had shifted his form into that of a monstrous bear and decimating the orcs beneath him. The shape shifter also succeeded in killing off Bolg, the orc chieftain, causing the rest of the orcs to flee at the sight of their fallen leader. The tides had finally turned. The battle was over. And for the first time in a while, the din of battle had died down, leaving only whispers of silence in its wake. The citizens of Lake-town were now salvaging what they could—counting their blessings and mourning the loss of the ones that were lost in the war. The battle indeed had been won, but the amount of casualties was too great to count.

There was a twinge a sadness that Esteliel felt in her heart, for while she and her company had saved many, there were countless others that they couldn’t. The air was solemn, and the skies ashen, for even the hidden sun seemed to cry for mercy at the sight of the ruby color that painted the snow-kissed lands. Yet smalls beams of sunlight opened up from the heavens above, a symbol of hope and of a new beginning.

She was all but lost in her own thoughts before a voice broke the silence.

“I’m assuming you left quite an impression on the King,” the words were spoken with slight sarcasm as Esteliel’s eyes met those of her companion, Aenor’s. It was a small attempt to distract her from all that was barren around them, but it was an opportunity that she quickly took. Taking note of the ghost of a smile that traced her lips, Aenor continued, grinning, as if to understand that in those moments his words were the only thing to make light of what otherwise was a terrible situation, “Surely it was from your charm?” It had been no secret that his friend exploded at the Elvenking, unleashing her wrath like an unyielding fire, but secretly Aenor was glad he had not been in either of their positions for Esteliel’s words to the Elvenking were none other than harsh, and if looks could kill -- he would probably be dead from the glare she had received in return.

“Hardly. It was more like lack thereof,” came the reply, the voice soft at first not yet yielding to the banter for she could not ignore the heaviness in heart. But she managed to crack a weak smile, knowing what Aenor's intentions were, “I have yet to come across someone with the amount of ignorance that was had in that conversation,”

“Well, as the mortal say, ignorance is bliss. Perhaps it’s just his way of showing that he’s just extremely happy?”

At those words, she couldn’t help but to laugh at that comment—something she hadn’t done since she set foot into Dale, “Oh you jest Aenor.” A full smile finally breaking her lips, “I guess it just goes to show that we aren’t bound to get along with everyone we meet,”

“Always the pragmatic one, aren’t you?” her companion interjected wryly as the two gazed around the now destroyed walls of Dale, still trying keeping the conversation light and blithe.

“Are you to say, that everyone you’ve met in past the two thousand plus years, that you’ve gotten along with everyone you’ve met?” she met his banter, obviously dubious, but expecting nothing but sarcasm in return.

“Naturally. And I would have befriended our dear King of Mirkwood too, if you hadn’t opened that mouth of yours.” He chided lightheartedly in return, “Always the one to be headstrong in your beliefs, aren’t you?”

“Oh so now I’m at fault?” she feigned hurt.

“It is you who said it, not I,” there was a pause as the two made eye contact once more, shortly after a burst of laughter filled the otherwise solemn air. And then there was silence once more. “I jest Esteliel. Who knows, maybe me opening my mouth would have scared him away sooner-- though not even I would so brazenly challenge elvish royalty like that. What in the world made you snap like so?”

And just like that, there were no more distractions. Reality set in.

It was not of Esteliel’s persona to speak so adamantly about her beliefs. Normally respectful and kind, most who knew her wouldn’t fathom her being rash. However those who knew her well knew that there was a fiery intensity that could appear if her buttons were ever pushed the wrong way. Her actions were, however, usually were with reason as Aenor had mentioned the pragmatic quality of her personality. And it just so happened to be that that day was going rather poorly for the elf and the Elvenking’s arrival into the fray just happened to be so very poorly timed.

Their original destination was that of Lothlórien. Elrond has sent a party of three to accompany her to see the Lady and the Lord of Lórien. For what? She did not know, but she had her suspicions. Call it a gut feeling or intuition, she knew that something awaited her in Lothlórien. Whether it was good or bad, it remained a mystery, but there was a feeling of dread that filled her bones when she had first heard that they should be making a journey there. She had heard what people said about Galadriel, the Lady of Lórien —an elven lady of such beauty and power that even men and dwarves alike could become enchanted by her. She was someone who could look into your very mind, your very soul, and read your heart for what it was worth.

Esteliel’s mind had been clouded with a sea of black for as long as she could remember. It was always a sea of darkness with tumultuous skies, rough waters ebbing to and fro from the never ending shoreline. Countless times, she had tried to remember, tried to recall the past, but the roaring storm that roared in her head quickly put an end to such efforts. There was no recollection of anything that had happened many years past, and as time grew on, she had accepted it as a mere lapse in memory, but deep in her heart she knew-- no she feared that there was a reason behind those roaring waves of ebony.

She thought Elrond had done the same when he took her into Rivendell so many years ago, overlooking that she was a mere elf lost and confused. Without a trace of a past, and without any memory, she was honestly surprised that he asked no questions. But perhaps after all that time he grew doubtful, or even distrustful of her? For the first two hundred years she hadn’t been very keen to capturing his attention aside from the occasional lessons in elvish healing, something that she seemed to be gifted in. But the most recent century, things were different. Several times, she had seen him studying her from a distance, a calculating expression on his face that she took as a sign of disapproval. She would have avoided the Lord of Rivendell if she could, however such rudeness could not be instilled on a person who had so graciously welcomed her into his own kingdom. It was nearing the 450th year of her stay when he had expressed his opinion of her seeing the Lady of Light, and it was then that marked the start of her journey.

The thing with negative thoughts was that even if there is a small inkling of doubt, it can eventually grow to devour you whole. She had desperately tried to pin down the thoughts of _‘Lord Elrond doesn’t trust you. You are no longer welcome in Imladris_ ’, knowing full well that she had been nothing but a good house guest and pupil for the elf lord. But yet they lingered in her mind as she rested, the thoughts of self-doubt plaguing every crevice throughout the journey. Paranoia set in. For it wasn’t Galadriel’s power that scared her, it was more of what she would possibly discover.

Perhaps the meaning behind the great shores of darkness would finally be revealed-- but she didn’t want to face the possibility that they meant calamity. There was nothing to quell the anxiety that had made itself home in her chest. All of her thoughts of course, was all hypothetical, but little did she know the more they lingered, the more they gnawed at her subconscious; taking a considerably large emotional toll on her being. And eventually, nightmares scenarios possessed her mind, making her all the more wanting to run away. Running away though, was impossible. Perhaps Elrond had thought of that himself, or why else would he have given orders for three guards accompany her? Nonetheless, she was scared to face her fears and have her questions answered. Scared as to what those answers may bring.

It was a relatively easy task getting the group lost around midway of their journey. Wandering into the Mirkwood forest and getting greeted by quite possibly the largest spiders she had seen in her life was an unexpected bonus. Simply _delightful_. But being covered by spider webs and innards wasn’t the outcome she had pictured when she had ‘accidently’ meandered off onto a different path.

After almost getting stung dozens of time, whether it was dumb luck or sheer coincidence, the party had then managed to stumble upon the chaos that brewed over Dale. It was from there that she had convinced her party to stay and aid the injured. But it was at Dale where the sight of the brutality of war slapped the harsh reality in the face.

She was running away from her problems, yet the people of Lake-town, including the women, ran into battle bold and unafraid—even if it lead to certain death. Who was she, an immortal, to shy away from her inner turmoil, when mere mortals were sacrificing themselves for the sake of a better future? That truly was a sobering moment, putting to realization how silly her own thoughts were in comparison to those who had given up their lives defending what the believed in.

She was a fool.

Unfortunately for the Elvenking, he just happened to show up somewhere in the middle of it all, right when her inner turmoil seemed to be at war with her own body- where mind had taken over matter. And his words had just added fuel to the fire, especially right after she had witness countless men and women forgo their own lives. So now, looking back at the events that had taken place with a level head, she had to admit, her anger was partially misplaced.

“I do not take back my words,” she remarked silently, not quite answering the other elf’s question. There was only a heavy sigh that exited her lips, her expression highly concentrated.

 _Have courage._ She told herself.

Too long she had put this off. She couldn’t hide any longer, not after witnessing the full brunt of battle. She would follow suit.  “Aenor, do you think we could stay here for a while to help bury the deceased. . . before we continue on to Lothlórien?”

There would be no more running away after this, for it would only be a blow to the memory of the countless lives that slipped through her fingers on that very day. She would face the Lady of Lórien with the bravery she had seen others display that day; an acceptance of what was to come.

And for once, the dark seas of her mind seemed to be a peace -- perhaps signaling the calm before the storm.

 

* * *

 

By the time the Elvenking had reached the upper levels of Ravenhill, he didn’t quite know what to expect. He was not yet ready to fear the worst, but even he knew that it was a possibility with every step that he took. There were bodies of orcs strewn around in the icy tundra-- and that of a dwarf too, all casualties in the war of five armies. There were men lost from pretty much all sides, and many of his own men had died. Remnants of armor laid crushed at his feet, along with abandoned weapons that littered the pathway up towards into an opening in the mountain. His eyes darted to and from the bodies of the fallen, desperately searching for an answer, for a hint that none of those on the cold ground was his son. That he had not lost the only remaining thing that he held dear to him. It was only a few steps in when he entered one of the small caverns within the mountain did he see his son. A wave a relief washed over his stoic face, something that seemed to be unreciprocated by the elven prince.

 _But of course._ Thranduil couldn’t blame Legolas for his son’s feelings. The threats to Tauriel seemed to be the final straw for Legolas, for the Elvenking knew the words to come before they were spoken.

“I . . . cannot go back,”

While the words hardly came as a surprise, they brevity of them still stung. Up until then, Thranduil had only tried to protect his son, but it was only then had he realized that it was his own actions that had been pushing the Prince away from him. If he hadn’t been so hardheaded, if he hadn’t been so cold . . . maybe thing would have played out differently. He found it ironic that he had realized these things too little too late. Perhaps if _she_ had been then, then things might not have turned that way. She had always been the sensible one, firm yet kind-- she kept him grounded and wasn’t afraid to voice her own opinions even if they contradicted his own. For it was very rare to find someone who leveled out your own flaws with their strengths, and it was even harder to maintain that level of sensibility when that someone was no longer there. What would she have done if she had been in this position?

_‘If you truly love someone, sometimes, the hardest part is letting them go,’_

Whispers of memories past resonated within his head. The two of them had talked about Legolas growing up before. How one day, he would want to move onto a new chapter in his life. How one day he would leave the leafy canopies of his home for good. Thranduil remembered that he had replied to her comment in a witty manner, saying something along the lines of ‘He is still an elfling, it will be a long while before he sets on any adventure-- after all he has yet to take his first steps” and the soft chimes of her laughter filled the air shortly afterwards.

But those times were but mere memories. If Legolas would not return to Mirkwood, then the most Thranduil could do was at least direct his son towards those whom he knew that could help the Prince flourish. The next pieces of conversation exchanged by father and son seemed like a blur to him -- the weight finally hitting at last. _He is leaving._

He had lost a loved one in the battle of Gundabad, and he would lose another one here. He had always envisioned their parting moments to be bittersweet, but he never imagined that it could be so painful as well as he uttered his final words, advising his son to seek the counsel of those he knew he had faith in.

There was a poignant pause as the last words left his lips, Legolas using the silence to break eye contact with his father before turning his head away to leave. It was hard for the both of them.

“Legolas,” Thranduil called out. The younger elf paused.

“Your mother loved you,” his voice was laced with raw emotion, and for the first time in a while, a look of grief clouded his face, “more than anyone. . .  More than life,”

The soft blue’s of Legolas’s eyes widened as he let the phrase sink in. For as long as he remembered, not once had his father mentioned his mother to him. He had always wondered what she was like, her smile, her voice -- the color of her eyes. A great tidal wave of questions surged through his chest-- hitting his throat with questions that he had longed to ask.

But those words were enough.

There was silence as the prince turned to mirror a single gesture to his father, a hand placed over the heart then offered freely to the other party. It was an elvish form of parting, a gesture giving blessing and well wishes for the other to take care and to stay safe. ‘ _My heart will always be with you’_.

There was a fleeting moment of eye contact before the elven prince turned around once more. And in that silent conversation that lasted mere seconds between father and son, Thranduil could see that Legolas’s eyes conveyed a simple message right before he parted ways heading off into the rugged terrain beyond the mountain.

_Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ionneg_ \- My son  
>  _Nana_ \- Mother
> 
> Added some more backstory to the ending scene for Bo5A with Thranduil and Legolas because just saying ‘Oh btdubs your mother loved you a lot” without much explanation didn’t quite cut it for me. That and the way Lee Pace portrayed Thranduil punched me right in the feels when I first saw the scene, so I wanted to somehow connect the dots a bit and expand a little more on the father son relationship. (Also there’s a bit of the funky situation between movie-verse and book-verse with the whole Dunedain thing, so I purposely made it vague.)
> 
> Added a bit of backstory about Esteliel's background as well. Hopefully in later chapters it'll make more sense, but for now that's all I have. Once again, sorry for the extremely slow start, the first several chapters serve as a base for more character introduction and backstory, but it's getting there. :) (SLOWWWLY getting there!)
> 
> (Also might be changing the main summary as the chapters get written because I have more of a clue about the layout of everything than when I wrote it-- summaries are, admittedly, hard to write though!)
> 
> \-----
> 
>  **Edit** : Going to add some headcanon’s for more background. I was originally going to edit the chapter to include this information, but decided that it would be too confusing/strayed too off from where things were headed. But thank you to _monkeyyys01_ who brought up the point of the path to Lothlorien in the comments below. (This was my reply, explaining my headcanon, just worded a lot more eloquently than my reply below HAHAHA)
> 
> Rivendell is located almost exactly North of Lothlorien, but it falls slightly Northwest to it, the Misty Mountain range separating the two. To travel from Rivendell to Lothlorien, you can either take two paths, one leading east or one leading south. Both however, require you to pass the Misty Mountains.
> 
>  **Headcanon 1:** The southern path, would technically be the fastest way to Lothlorien. (And from what I’m assuming, the path they would normally take) However Celebrian, Elrond’s wife had gotten captured along the Redhorn Pass (otherwise known as Caradhras) and got wounded there (which lead to her untimely departure), so Elrond did not wish to send Esteliel  & Company along the southern route to Lóthlorien due to his wariness about what that path might lead to. Ironically that path was probably safer because after the Battle of Azanulbizar (which took place after Celebrian’s death but before Bo5A), as most of the orcan army there was wiped out. BUT for the purpose of this story, I’m just going to assume that to Elrond, there were too many ‘haunting memories’ that lingered along the Redhorn Pass, so he wasn’t willing to risk it. Instead, he sent them on the more Eastern route across the High Pass (which was still dangerous due to the threat of goblins. But I would like to believe that elves were more nimble than dwarves, so they wouldn’t have gotten caught as Thorin & Company had.)
> 
> After Esteliel’s party had passed High Pass they wound up pretty near Rhosgobel-- which is where Headcanon 2 comes in.
> 
>  **Headcanon 2:** Rhosgobel, which happened where Radagast’s house was, was located between Carrock, and Old Forest Road, which also (as just previously stated) just happens to be around where you would end up if you had taken the High Pass from Rivendell. Around this time of the journey, Esteliel made the amazingly smart decision (sarcasm of course) of venturing out towards Mirkwood for she had sensed a strange aura within the forest and she used that as an excuse to investigate. (This was on purpose however, as her doubts had caught up with her at that point of the journey.) She knew that this ‘aura’ was a dark and foreboding one, but at that point, she took any opportunity to delay her journey to Lorien with stride. She had also considered running away, but Aenor was one of the first friends she made in Rivendell, that she wouldn’t want him to get in trouble for her misgivings. And so, came her encounter with spiders.
> 
> Aenor chose to follow her into Mirkwood, because what are friends for, and with half the group gone, the other two guards had no choice but to follow. It was only when they were surrounded by spiders did all hell break loose and they became truly lost. Once they realized they were vastly outnumbered, they gave up on fighting the creatures and tried to flee instead-- a chase that lead all the way to Erebor (somehow lol- I ended it really lamely bc I didn't really think past the spiders when brainstorming lol). And so, that is the backstory to the backstory.And there may be more backstories to come because my brain wants to attempt to tell the story without telling the story and winds up making zero to little sense. So I figure at the end of each chapter, I might have to write descriptions like this. (I AM SO SORRY/APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE)


	4. A Funeral

The crackling the embers conversed through the soft breeze as dusk fell around the lands of Erebor. The angry red glow of the dying flames, ebbing in and out of focus replacing the licks of red, orange, and yellow that had wrapped themselves around the now charred funeral pyres just mere hours before. Funerals for dwarves were never taken lightly, for the masters of stone preferred to bury their kin in tombs-- for the fallen to rest in stone and not that of the cold hard dirt of the earth. But this time around, there were far too many fallen kin to count. And so, they turned to fire as they had done in past. The roaring blazes that were mounted upon the funeral pyres, gave them some comfort that the bodies of their kin would never get a chance to be in the hands of orcs, or any other beast had they chose to bury in dirt. The flames a symbol of the fiery tenacity the fallen had been displayed in battle, and a tribute to the strength and bravery of the fire that had burned in their hearts. The weapons and armor of the fallen had been stripped from their bodies and taken away into the Lonely Mountain so that no orc would be able to claim it as theirs. While it was conflicting to set their own kin ablaze without the proper armor-clad procession-- in the dwarves’ eyes it was no less honorable than a traditional burial in tomb.

As the last sparks flickered up from the dying embers, a pair of deep emerald eyes stared into the dying flames with such intensity that for a moment, it seemed as if she was a frozen statue. And frozen she felt, even as the fading heat from the charred woods gave what warmth it could-- she felt nothing. Yet there she stood, staring almost hypnotically into the faint hues of firelight. Not once had she felt emotions such as these.

_Tauriel. Amrâlimê._

She had denied understanding the secret dwarvish language on the shores of Lake-town, but deep in her heart she knew the meaning behind those words.  _It was impossible,_  a union between elf and dwarf. But as much as she tried to hide those thoughts away in her head, the more her heart retaliated against her. It wasn’t until his body had been carried away, in a slow procession alongside his brother and uncle to be buried underneath that mountain that was their home had the tears started rolling down her cheeks. And it wasn’t until the first pyre was lit that the floodgates to her heart burst open for the second time that day. She told herself she wouldn’t cry anymore tears, she had done enough crying that day as she clung onto his dead body over Ravenhill, a heaving feeling in her chest. It felt as if someone had wrenched out her heart and stabbed it multiple times-- never to be repaired, never to be whole again. There were no words to describe the pain, for her heart only wept in sorrow. Only the Elvenking, at last recognizing that she had truly loved the dwarf, had shown her some sympathy in passing. It was a very rare occasion that Thranduil had been moved to that extent, but he could see his younger self reflected in the pain in her eyes and the cracks in her heart as she held onto Kili’s lifeless body; a sight that paralleled his own those many years ago. And so the Elvenking had been so moved as to speak a few consoling words towards the banished Silvan elf, for his heart too knew of the pain that came with losing a loved one. For his heart too, was also grieving over the departure of his one and only son.

_Why does it hurt so much?_

_Because it was real._

She was grateful towards Thranduil when he agreed her to stay for Kili’s burial even though the elves had their own to bury as well. And even though she would no longer return to Mirkwood after all was said and done, it gave her come comfort to know that the Elvenking, the one who had been the most doubtful, had finally recognized her love as genuine. And so there she stood, long after the processions had taken place, just staring into what was left of the fires that were slowly ebbing away. And in her hands, a round ebony stone, giving her the only comfort in her grief as the traced the small runes etched onto the face of the runestone.

If only she had told him what her heart wanted to say all those times, all those things that her mind had never allowed. If there was one regret she had, it was that she never expressed how she truly felt.

_Gi Melin._

 

* * *

 

 

The funeral was a solemn one, many traversing down the steps deep under the Lonely Mountain to pay their final respects, torches of fire and of candlelight lighting the way. There were many in attendance, for while Thorin, being as stubborn as he was, had proved himself worthy through his actions, earning him the respect of many in Middle Earth. Gandalf the Grey was one of those present, for it was the wizard who was the one to advise to dwarf along his path to reclaim Erebor; alongside him, Beorn the shapeshifter, Bilbo the Hobbit, as well as the Elvenking Thranduil. They had all come to pay homage to the late King Under the Mountain. Despite what differences were held between each party and Thorin, there was a mutual feeling that respect was to be paid for the fallen King.

And as with custom, a great feast was served in the halls of Erebor, for the Mountain had reawakened -- populated once again by dwarves that had survived the battle. A celebration of life was held for those the dwarves had lost and all who had sided with them in battle were invited to attend. And stepping up as the successor to the title of King Under the Mountain was Dáin II Ironfoot. His coronation followed shortly after the funeral processions and with the coronation, meant that the Erebor had a new ruler once more. And with that, old promises were made to be kept and the treasure guarded by Smaug to be split. A portion went to Bard the bowman, for the people of Laketown to rebuild what was destroyed by the fire drake -- also given as thanks for slaying the dragon. A portion to the chief of the Eagles for their timely reinforcement-- declared by Dáin as friends of the dwarves from that day forth. A portion to the Hobbit who had been hired originally as a thief, but was now considered a dear friend to Thorin’s Company--  Bilbo however, rejected his portion, only to leave the Lonely Mountain with two chests full of treasure. And a portion to the Elvenking-- reunited at last with the necklace adorned in white gems of starlight.

As darkness fell upon the lands, one by one, they each left-- the Eagles, returning to the skies in which they had come from, Bilbo, returning to the Shire in the company of Gandalf, the Elvenking and his army sending them off as they too left for the woodlands of their home but not before presenting the great sword of Orcrist to the dwarves, given as token of respect to lay atop of Thorin’s tomb. It was only several citizens of Lake-town who had stayed within the Mountain to celebrate the festivities for they did not have a home to return to. And in their company was the quartet of elves from Rivendell. Their role in aiding the wounded did not go unnoticed, for they too were invited to join the festivities. Unsurprisingly, Aenor (quick to take up the invitation) had made peace with several of the dwarves of Thorin’s company for his amiable nature and witty comments were enjoyed by many Lake-town folk and dwarves alike. 

Esteliel, however, found herself down within the depths of the mountain-- down the gravel steps, and into burial grounds of the late King. She had never gotten a chance to pay her respects in person, for after the war had ended, she had assisted the people of Lake-town in their burials and had only watched afar from Dale as the slow procession with Thorin’s body headed towards Erebor where his final resting spot would be.

She had expressed this to Balin, a dwarf that she had took conversation, making light conversation while others from her company (namely Aenor) roared with laughter and merry making. And it was Balin who had led her to the wake where all three bodies lay atop three slabs of rock-- not yet fully encased in stone. The dwarf didn’t ask many questions, for that day, the barriers of race were non-existent (even if it was for that day only), and men, elves, and dwarves alike were brought together for a common purpose to remember and send off the dead in a style that was only fitting for a king and his men. And besides, who was he to deny her when she had aided the wounded in battle? While it was not a pivotal role, the dwarf could see the kindness in her heart and the sincerity of her words.

The soft pitter patter of the dwarf’s footsteps soon grew faint as Balin took his leave to rejoin his companions up in the great halls. Esteliel’s own steps led her to the circle of candlelight that illuminated the bodies atop the white alabaster stone. Even in death, Thorin seemed to have a commanding atmosphere around him. Clad in his finest armor and gear, he looked formidable as he had in battle, like a true king.  His hands, clasped together above his chest, and underneath them, the soft glistening gem of pure radiant light-- the heart of the mountain, the Arkenstone. The path to get the Arkenstone in his possession had been a long and arduous one for Thorin dealt with many inner demons inherited from his great ancestors. Balin had told her the story of their journey and all the hardships they had faced as he led her down into the mountain. _Dragon sickness_ , the older dwarf had said, had taken over Thorin’s mind -- greed had made him obsessed. It was  _his_ birthright, Thorin had stated -- no longer knowing friend from foe. He trusted no one, and soon grew to be suspicious of everyone. It was funny how paranoia could quickly possess over someone even as noble as Thorin. And how something that started out so small would eventually be the cause of his downfall. Yet the Thorin laying on top the marble stone seemed to be at peace, for the dwarf had died making amends on his deathbed. And Bilbo, the young hobbit who had not joined the festivities, had felt a mixture of bittersweetness at Thorin’s last words. The Thorin that he knew had returned, but it was too little too late to save him from his wounds.

As the tale told by Balin trailed off in her head, her eyes turned to the bodies that rested on both sides of Thorin, the bodies of his nephews Fili and Kili. The two had sacrificed themselves for the dwarf who, in their eyes, was a king with or without a mountain. The sons of Dís had displayed much courage and showed their prowess on the battlegrounds fighting for their uncle. But in the end, they too died a noble death-- protecting their kin-- their king. And thus ended Thror’s branch of male descendents in the Durin family tree.

_May you find peace after death._

One for the fallen king, with mountain in his hands. Two for his nephews, their lives cut short. With gentle hands, Esteliel set a bundle of tiny herbs with leaves rich as the forests and with flowers tiny, yet vibrant as the Arkenstone itself at the foot of each of their graves. Athelas, or in common tongue, kingsfoil. A piece of flora that was befitting for kings.

It was only when she had placed the final bundle of foliage at the youngest dwarf’s feet did she realize that she was not alone. For a few steps back from the head of the stone-like casket stood a solitary figure-- a female elf with hair like the copper tones of the sunset and eyes as deep as the forest. Part of the elf’s face was covered in shadow, but as she stepped into the low candlelight, there was an undoubted look of conflict that Esteliel could see that was visibly painted on the Silvan elf’s face-- still carrying the weight of her burdens.

 

* * *

 

Tauriel’s fingertips touched those of the dwarf’s, her fingers trembling as she lingered for a moment before cupping her hand on top his own. Her other hand gently caressed his cheek as her eyes casted down upon his closed ones. She had wished that this was all a cruel joke—she had wished that she had died in his place. She had watched as Thranduil and his men left for the woods of Mirkwood, not staying for the festivities. And she let several of Thorin’s company usher her inside the mountain towards the feast, for they knew of the connection that she and Kili had. But she could not bear to celebrate when there was no reason for her to. Instead, she had found herself standing, lost in her own thoughts beneath the looming statues of Thorin's forefathers. And there she stood underneath the shadows in silence, not even realizing that a second presence had joined her in the halls until she had subconsciously drawn herself to the head of Kili’s grave, her gentle hands touching his, desperately trying to cling onto what was lost. 

“You loved him,” the unfamiliar voice commented, catching Tauriel off guard. She had been so transfixed at the sight of Kili that she hadn’t noticed that there was another figure present, studying her from the foot of his grave. Her own eyes were met with a set of soft blues. Another elf. But the thing that surprised her more was the way the message was carried. It surprised Tauriel that there were no underlying tones of judgement-- for an elf and a dwarf relationship would almost treated as heresy, and that there was no tones of disapproval. Instead, there was compassion, there was sympathy. Such kindness was something that the copper-haired elf wasn’t expecting.

She could only sadly nod at the words spoken,  _Yes._ Her eyes gazed forlornly at the stranger before managing to whisper out, “But I could not say the words.” Even after death, why were the words so hard to say? Why was it that even after death that these feelings would not leave? Once again, she found her gaze drawn back to face of the youngest member of Thorin’s company. In the candlelight, it almost looked as if he was sleeping and dreaming endless dream, but never to wake again. After several moments in silent, she spoke once more, “Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I joined him,” after all, who would miss her? She was banished from Mirkwood for loving a dwarf and Legolas was probably long gone too, quick to take his leave after seeing her weep over Kili’s lifeless body. And so, she was without a home to return to and without the company of anyone, it would have been easy to drift away and slip away into the starlight-- to disappear into a distant memory.

“You are mistaken,” Tauriel’s eyes traveled back towards the bold words of fair-haired elf.

Esteliel’s cheeks reddened as she realized that her word probably didn’t come out as she had intended for she quickly added onto her previous statement as not to be misunderstood by the other elf, “Forgive me, if I may be so bold to speak . . .  I just believe that if he were alive, he would only wish for your happiness.”

There was silence from the copper-haired elf followed by a wavering reply, Tauriel’s voice cracking one more, “My happiness would have been with him,”

“Have you no idea how he would feel if you were to throw your life away so carelessly? Think about what he would have wanted for you – for his sake and for yours, _have courage_ ," she paused, speaking a gentler tone, "please do not let his wishes die in vain.” Esteliel’s words were all hypothetical considering the fact that she never met the dwarf before—not living anyways. She had no idea what his personality was or what he really would have even wished for. For all she knew he could have been contemptuous and cruel, but she had hope that he was anything but. Esteliel didn’t even know the other female’s name, but she had been moved by Tauriel’s actions, for actions spoke louder than words. Elves, as immortal as they were, could forsake their own lives if they no longer had the will to live in the world—their souls would be taken to the Halls of Mandos in Valar where they would wait to be judged by Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar. However to lose yourself in grief was probably the most painful and most pitiful way to expire, it would mean that there would be no more hope, no more light—only dark thoughts and a sea of grief. Esteliel did not want to wish that upon anyone, and so she hoped, hoped that her words (with what little merit they might have had) had some impact on the copper-haired elf and that Tauriel’s hope was not lost.

There were several minutes of silence before Esteliel heard a reply, “How do I move on from this? How do I stop the pain?” ,Tauriel’s eyes, not leaving Kili’s face.

“You can’t.” Esteliel stated simply, earning her a look of surprised from Tauriel from the brevity of her answer. “You will always carry the pain in your heart, but you also carry the memories made during your time together. If you truly love someone, sometimes, the hardest part is letting them go. But just remember that they will always be with you -- right in your heart, in your memories. So yes, there will always be pain, but you must look past it. Look past the hurt, and instead cherish fondly of the memories that you had with him for that is what I think he would have wanted. He would have wanted you to celebrate his life, not to wallow away in sadness.”

Once more, Tauriel had to let the words sink in. She knew not the name of the elf who was speaking to her, but the kind words helped alleviate some of the aching feeling that still lingered in her chest.  _Have courage._  The gentle words of encouragement gave Tauriel and small push in the right direction—a flicker of hope was found beneath the layers sadness. Even though her heart was still wavering, she knew that the words spoken by Esteliel were true. He would have wanted her to be happy.

_You cannot be her. She is far away. She . . . she is far, far away from me. She walks in starlight in another world. It was just a dream._

She remembered his words when she had saved him in Lake-town, how she had looked down upon him in wonder.

_Do you think she could have loved me?_

He had loved her, and she had loved him. But it was she who never gave an answer to the question posed. And it was now he who was far away from her— it was he who would now walk in starlight in another world. He was the dream that was now unobtainable. 

_Did you love him?_

She asked herself the same question that he had asked her – only this time, she knew her answer.

_Always._

“You are right,” the whisper fell freely from Tauriel’s lips as she held onto that memory with a sad smile. It would take small steps to mend her broken heart, but as long as there was hope and memory, her spirit wouldn't waver and she wouldn't fade into the darkness.

_He is now far . . .  far away from me. Perhaps we will meet again . . .  in a different world, underneath the starlight._

There was a small clatter as a stone the color of twilight was set down beside the youngest dwarf’s body. And there it sat, reflecting the flickering of the candlelight before it was picked up once more and placed into the ones of Kili. The gentle hands of Tauriel pressing the runestone into the palm of Kili's before she closed his fingers around it and squeezed his hand shut – the very same had done when he had given it to her on the shores of Lake-town.

_I’ve kept it . . . as promised._

_And now, I return it to you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Amrâlimê & Gi Melin_ \- I love you.
> 
> I wanted to focus on the Tauriel/Kili relationship (as short lived as it may had been) for a bit in the chapter because I really do love writing melodramatic angst (LOL). I originally had mixed feelings about the pairing going into the Hobbit movies since she’s not a character that appeared in the book, but the pairing wound up growing on me because the sass was strong and there was chemistry. (Mainly the sass though hahaha!)
> 
> Still not sure of I want to become of Tauriel, but I figure it’s a waste of a good character to just let her die, so she’ll be making a reappearance sometime later on hopefully! Just wanted her and Esteliel to know of each other-- if not by name, then have some sort of meeting early on, so they wouldn’t be total strangers in the future.
> 
>  **Headcanon 1:** Since the extended version of the movie didn’t come out yet (which supposedly includes the funeral/coronation scenes), this was pretty much left up to my imagination and some research. In the novel, Thorin was buried under the lonely mountain after the war, so I’m just going to assume that Fili and Kili were too since they technically were next in line for the throne. All other assumptions I made about dwarvish funerals are heavily based on the information I found online/google which helped me build a backstory since a lot of it really is left to the imagination. I originally wasn’t going to include the feast too, but the ending of the Bo5A implied there would also be a celebration of Thorin’s life/accomplishments and whathaveyou so I just kept it in there lol Also the division of the treasure was more geared towards the book-verse since not much of it is mentioned in the movie.
> 
>  **Headcanon 2:** Tauriel kept the runestone to place on top of Kili’s grave or to be buried with him. (Since it wasn’t explicitly implied that she had left it with his body on Ravenhill -- I’m taking the liberty in my headcanon to think that she kept it to make sure that it would be placed on his tomb) I also wanted her to meet Esteliel somehow in this chapter, but I didn't really think too much about how it happended, so this was the best I could think of lol 
> 
> **Headcanon 3:** While I do think there was an attraction to Tauriel from Legolas’ POV, I believe that he gave up on any romantic feelings whatsoever once he realized that Tauriel had truly loved Kili. He left Mirkwood without her because he knew that she would want to cope alone as his father once had. (which may or may not have been true, but that’s what his assumption was)
> 
>  **Headcanon 4:** I thought Fili's death in the movie was super lame. :| So I just kinda went along with the book and said that he had fought defending Thorin's mortally wounded body. For Kili's death, it's slightly tricker with the addition to Tauriel. But for all purposes, the timeline that pictured is something like this: Thorin, at that point already defeated Azog, but Bolg appears up out of the middle of nowhere (to avenge his father and behead Thorin). Fili and Kili (who haven't died yet for the sake of this backstory), fight him as keeping Thorin's body whole. Bolg then is able to kill Fili somehow, then gets charged by Kili (out of pain and anger of losing his brother) who sends the orc and himselfs tumbling down several steps, it is there where Tauriel finds him and the whole death thing happens from there as per the movie (kinda). And instead of Legolas dealing the final blow to Bolg, I'm sticking to to the book-verse where Beorn crushes him (as mentioned in the previous chapter) So essentially, it's a mixture of the book and the movie, just timed differently. (TLDR; IT'S REALLLLLLLY HARD TO COMBINE THE TWO BC THE BOOK AND THE MOVIE HAVE SO MANY DIFFERENCES)


	5. A Mirror

Lothlórien lived up to its reputation of being the fairest of the forests realms in all Middle Earth. Rich in foliage of different colors and sorts, the lush scenery drew a sense calm amongst its self-preserved beauty. The moment she had stepped into the forest, beyond the borders of the surrounding lands, Esteliel sensed there was something strange in the air. It was an odd feeling as the group made its way underneath the refuge of the shade of the leafy canopies, guided by the knotted roots of the towering trees above. It was almost as if the forest had a mind of its own, as if they were being guided by the silent words of nature through the twists and the turns of the path that led them to further and further into the woods. It was as if something was calling out to them.

_There is fear in your heart._

A voiced reverberated through her mind, almost causing her to trip and topple over into the adjacent stream that flowed alongside them. She managed to catch herself in the nick of time, but her stumble was not unnoticed.

“It's probably not the best time to doze off,” Chucked the voice of Aenor, who had witnessed her most ungraceful stumble. "Best to watch your step – these forests are protected by a watchful eye."

She was about to open her mouth for a rebuttal, about to defend her actions saying that they were caused by a voice in her head, when she noticed that her travel companions were otherwise unperturbed. (Along with how ridiculous that would have sounded) She could only question if she was the only one who was hearing voices in her head. It came out of nowhere, crystal clear, and yet it did not linger. Surely she wasn’t going crazy. The forest was protected by a watchful eye? Those were Aenor’s words, was that supposed to mean they were being watched? But could the forest also have a mind of its own to speak with? Many questions littered her mind, but almost all were pushed aside as they drew nearer to a small opening in the trees which held a group of elves who were seemingly awaiting their arrival.

“ _Aldol!_  We have been expecting you, company of Lord Elrond.  _Aphado nin, le nathlam hí_ ,” taking the elf’s words of welcome, the group of four were led out by a set of three – including the watchman who had greeted them. At the steps of their departure, the rest of the elves stationed at the clearing seemed to disperse into the woods, darting in between the stray rays of sunlight that peaked through the leaves.

“It is easier for them to patrol the lands now that you have arrived,” the first elf that had greeted them explained, “Many strange creatures have been venturing into these forests lately, we did not wish to mistaken you as one of them,” there was a small smile as he then went on to introducing himself. “ _Im_  Haldir, marchwarden of these northern parts of Lothlórien. These are my brothers Rúmil and Orophin , we will see to it that you find the rest of the journey safely,”

As the group continued along the pathway, there was something that had been on her mind since Haldir had introduced himself, “Pardon me, but I believe you said that you were expecting us?” she blurted out. They had told no one of their journey as Elrond had instructed them not to, so it came as a surprised to hear that their arrival was anticipated in advance.

“Oh yes, Lord Elrond made an unexpected visit yesterday. He voiced his concern when he was told that your group had not yet arrived-- he mentioned that we should have expected you sooner.”

“We ran into a slight detour-“

“Lord Elrond is here?“

Ignoring the eyebrow raised at her from Aenor, who had replied at the same time, she pressed on, “But for what purpose?” Why would he come himself if she already had a group of three accompanying her? Unless.

 _He thought I would run,_  the voice of self-doubt was very quick to return to her head, but she shook it off. It is just a mere coincidence, She told herself.  _Do not think anything of it._  It didn’t do much to calm her nerves.

“He did not say,” came Haldir’s reply, “but he quickly took counsel of Lady Galadriel – but I assume he will be relieved to hear of your safe arrival.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the journey was relatively quiet, only Aenor being the one take time to make small talk with the Lórien elves in elvish, asking about the forests of Lórien and the various flora and fauna that dwelled within. It was a contrast to Rivendell, while both had and beauty and elegance of their own, the forest of Lórien seemed to possess an ethereal feel to it for its beauty was almost haunting.

“We have arrived,” Haldir announced as the party of seven made its way into a larger clearing. There was a clear view of all the architectural feats the elves had accomplished. And as their footsteps slowed, Esteliel could only find herself looking up, pausing to admire the scenery. A high rise of passageways hidden atop trees, interwoven to the forest branches and roots, while a myriad of colors for flora painted the grounds surrounding them. There was all but one tree that caught Esteliel’s eye—the one that had a spiral staircase of white wrapped around it—illuminated by the candlelight. Bark of smooth silver, leaves of a pale golden green stood in contrast to the surrounding flowers of elanor and nipherdil. As her eyes grew of wonder at the beauty held in such leaves, a familiar face at the base of the steps caught her eye.

“Lord Elrond! What brings you here?” Aenor, also quick to recognize the figure, was all too chipper to greet the elf, only to receive a rather reproachful look from the Lord of Rivendell.

“There were matters that I had to attend to here.” The reply was short and sweet, Elrond’s voice however was unimpressed by the happy-go-lucky tunes of the other male’s voice, “I would have expected for you to arrive here sooner?” he questioned, his eyes falling on Esteliel. She fidgeted under his rather critical gaze, doing her best to avoid eye contact before Elrond's gaze shifted on towards Aenor once more. But before either elf could even formulate an answer, they were interrupted by another voice.

“Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn will see you now”.

The entrance of the Lady and Lord of the forest was a sight to behold, for even Haldir, who had served the lands of Lórien for many years could only sigh in deep awe as the two figures clad in dazzling white made their way down a set of entwined staircase of nature and stone, laced with the intricacies of which could only be provided by elves. Galadriel was a beautiful as they had said she was. Her sun-kissed hair fell elegantly down her back—colored of a mixture of silvery white and gold, complimenting the golden leaves of the  _mallorn_  that were hanging up on the surrounding trees. Her body, giving off an ethereal glow, seemed to radiate an overwhelming aura of strength and power that Esteliel found herself unable to look away. The Lady of Light seemed to notice the presence of the newly arrived company as she made her way down and around the spiral of stairs, for she paused as she made her last circle around the trunk of the tree before coming down the very last step. Her eyes were lighter than sapphires, but still had the intensity of the azure gems—it was hard to pinpoint the exact shade of blue, but they were still stunning nonetheless. For a brief second, the vividness of Galadriel’s eyes bore in the Esteliel’s own, seeming to look past Esteliel’s face and into her very soul.

_What is it that you are afraid of?_

The voice rang through her head once more, and it took all of Esteliel’s willpower not to flinch from surprise. There was no indication that anyone else had heard the question for if they had, there was no hint of any reaction in anyone as they bowed to pay their respects to the rulers of the forest. And once again, Esteliel started to question her sanity.

“Welcome travelers, Lord Elrond has told me to expect your company.” The fair elf greeted, “Come. Let us rest your minds for you must be weary – the roads of the north are not easily traversed.”

The hospitable words of the Lady of Lórien were a stark contrast to the haunting whisper that she had heard moments ago in her head. But no matter how much she tried shaking off the nagging feeling even as she was escorted out of the clearing, she felt as if she was being watched, all facets of her body studied, underneath the unwavering hues of blue.

 

* * *

 

“Now that you’ve seen her with your eyes, what do you make of it?” The brown-haired elf questioned towards the female, glancing down the leafy path that the newcomers had just been escorted off to. Elrond’s expression was a troubled one of inquiry as he turned towards the Lady of Lórien. Galadriel, Celeborn and he were the only ones who remained in the clearing, any other presence was void. The light from the hanging lanterns illuminated the air around them, as the husky scent of the forest intermingled with the sweet floral scent wafted in the air.

“I am uncertain,” the words of Galadriel were quiet, but piqued with curiosity.

“Surely you’ve seen her mind? If it is as he claims, we must be certain –“ the words of Celeborn joined the other two, the elf was calm in appearance, but his words had a sense of urgency in them as his eyes met of that of his wife’s.

“Peace,  _Meleth Nîn_. There will be time for questions soon, but it is not now.” There was a pause before she recalled what she had seen, “There was a purity around her heart, but I could also sense fear. Of what, I am not certain, for I could not see past a sea of darkness that lingers in her mind.” Her brows knitted as if troubled by something, turning towards Elrond, before directing a single question, “It has been nearly half a millennium since she came to you, why bring her to me now?”

“She came to us the day after Celebrían’s departure to the Gray Havens, without a memory and without a name,” He began, pausing at the memory of his late wife’s passing. There was brief wave of sadness that was mirrored through Galadriel’s eyes before he continued, “It was before any of our hearts had stopped weeping, before we finished grieving. But I had sensed it then, it was a small flicker of familiarity. I had many doubts at first, for I too believed that the final resting grounds are in the land of Aman. But as the years passed, there were far too many similarities witnessed that I could no longer pass off as mere coincidences. My lady, your body is still recovering from Dol Gulor, I did not wish to disturb your recovery by bringing forth a mere conjecture. But I had to be reasonably certain, for I wouldn’t dare gave you hope if there was none,”

“And so by coming here, you believe that there is hope?”

“I believe there is. But I also came for I feared that she had taken my words the wrong way—to think that I had shunned her from Imladris. I fear that she may have mistaken my watchful eye for a gaze of scrutiny. There have been many occasions in the past several years where I could sense as if she was trying to avoid me. Perhaps I wasn’t careful enough when I was observing her actions. But I had to make sure. Even in passing, Celebrían expressed to me how she looked forward being reunited with her once again in the lands far West-- it would only be a cruel twist of fate to have such a wish cut short.”

"Yes, for they were nearly inseparable,” acknowledged Galadriel softly as all eyes turned to her once more. The Lady of Lórien had been standing in silence until that point, deep in thought while listening to Elrond’s words with an unreadable expression upon her face. Her gaze turned towards the golden petals from the  _mallorn_  tree. She knew very little of elvish reincarnation, but what she did know, she expressed, “There is a possibility. That her  _fëa_  and the  _hröa_  have not yet been completely reunited”

“How could that be? It is clear as day that there she walks upon our lands in a body--”

“In a body that may or may not be changing.” Added the female elf. “I do not have all the answers. I know not what lies in the Undying Lands for I am one of those who are exiled from those lands. I only know what I have heard in the past. That the  _fëa_  and the  _hröa_ are meant to complete each other. If is only after passing into the Hall of Manos can the the soul of the elf be reembodied once more if it is so chosen. But I can only presume that somewhere, that there was an exception made or things did not go as intended. Her final resting places should have been in Aman—to come back to Middle Earth is something nearly unheard of. So yes, I understand your skepticism,”

“Then if it is indeed true then, shall we speak of anything to  _him_?” at the words of her husband, a bemused expression fell upon the Lady of Light in contrast to Celeborn’s pensive one. It was something that hadn’t crossed her mind.

There was a brief pause as Galadriel chose her next words carefully, “If his heart remains as it was when he first met her, it is possible that he may come to realize that what he wished for so dearly is now back within his reach. However, we shall not meddle with the affairs of the heart, for it is not our place.”

Silence fell upon the trio once more, each letting the words spoken sink in. It was several minutes later when Galadriel broke the silence. “There may be one way,”  She commented, her words growing thoughtful, “Perhaps it will not tell me much, but it may offer some insight. For not even I know what the mirror might reveal,”

 

* * *

 

The faint twinkle of starlight filled the translucent skies, some dim, others bright as the sun. They were supposed to symbolize memory, something which she found highly ironic since she had no memories to remember. Perhaps it would only befit her if she stared into the sky of darkness instead—to match the one painted in her mind. _“Perhaps they are memories others have of you,”_  Aenor had once commented when she had voiced her opinion to him. It was around the time when they first met, but his words brought some peace to her heart. She smiled as she recalled her reply to his comment, " _Surely you exaggerate, who could possibly have that many memories of me?"_

She didn’t know where she was going, only following blindly in the footsteps of an attendant who had told her that her presence was requested and for her to follow. And so she followed, trailing behind several steps, admiring what landscape Lothlórien had to offer at nighttime. It was at small a clearing overlooking the calm waters that flowed through the forest where the elf leading her had stopped before taking a moment to bow and retrace the path in which that they had come from. And just like that, Esteliel found herself alone, surrounded by stone and vines of the plants that had made their home beside the roots of the trees that loomed overhead.

Enchanting was the only word to describe it, almost as if she had walked into a dream, for the whimsical colors that lit up the air seemed to be as if they were result of a magical spell. Green moss cascaded its way down the rocks with small flowers growing in between the cracks. The ground was that of a smooth granite, the earthy tones seeming to catch all the shadows cast down by the waning of the crescent moon could be seen hovering in the night sky. A small waterfall, splashed merrily amidst the silence in between two rocks forming a shallow pool of water that reflected the night sky. And next to it, a lone basin sitting atop a platform. Intrigued, she took a step forward, but it was only after Esteliel had drawn closer that she realized she was being watched.

She gasped as her eyes met the ones of the vivid blues that had penetrated her mind from before, “My Lady, I am so sorry to intrude,” She quickly bowed towards Galadriel, deeply apologetic. For one who had such a defining aura earlier, it astounded Esteliel that she hadn’t noticed the Lady of Lórien’s presence sooner.

“There is no need to apologize, for you have done nothing wrong.” The golden-haired elf replied in amusement, drawing herself forth as the other drew herself back. The glow in Galadriel returned to her body—an aura of brilliant white, “There is no need to be afraid for these woods are protected. No harm will find you here.”

Esteliel could only find herself mute, unable to utter a reply, for the sheer being of Galadriel seemed to overwhelm her in mind and body. There were little comfort in the words spoken. Galaldriel seemed to take some notice of it, for the fair elf smiled softy as she drew forth a silver water vase, filling it from the shallow pools that lie next to the water basin. In silence, Esteliel could only watch as the woman clad in white made her way beside the empty water basin. It was only then, when Galadriel spoke once more, this time with a different question that welcomed conversation, “You must have traveled a long way. I see it that you’ve come from the North, why not of the east?”

Despite the kind tone of Galadriel’s voice, Esteliel couldn’t help but still feel slightly unnerved. “L-Lord Elrond advised against it.” she found herself stammering, unable to hide from the piercing gaze that seemed to be very keen on studying her face.

“. . .  Even after all this time.” Galadriel mused quietly to herself before addressing the puzzled look of Esteliel, “Lord Elrond is a dear friend of mine. Around half a millennium ago, his wife journeyed across the Redhorn pass from Imladris. And it was there where she was attacked by orcs, poisoned by their weapons and tortured to the point where she had lost all will to live on. There was no more hope in her for the foul creatures had tainted her beyond even the healing hands of her husband. He loved her dearly and was devastated when she chose to sail onto the Undying Lands, for should have sailed there together."

“You loved her as well,” the poignancy in Galadriel’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the younger elf, who had found her voice at last.

“Yes, for she was my daughter.” The lady in white closed her eyes to reminisce shaking her head sadly as she recalled her own loss. There was nothing that could compare to a mother’s loss of a child.

"I'm sorry," Esteliel found herself whispering.

"She is but a dear memory to my heart," was the wistful reply as the orbs of the light vivid blues opened once more. They then drew their attention to the elongated vase of silver that was filled with water. “Past, present, and future. They are all intertwined. Happenings of the past cannot be changed, but our actions in the present can affect what will come in the future.” A stream of water flowered into the empty basin until it was filled and the vase, emptied. “Will you look into the mirror? Perhaps you may find the answers you are longing for,”

 _But you must not touch the water_. The voice of warning echoed through her head. It was only then when Esteliel realized that the words that she had been hearing in her head were from none other than Galadriel. “Answers?” she echoed cautiously, unsure what to expect.  _But what will I see?_   was the real question she wanted to ask.

Her only reply was a ghost of a smile from the Lady of Light as the older elf stepped back from the basin, giving Esteliel a small nod as if to beckon her forward. Beneath the gaze of Galadriel, and with much caution and trepidation, she ventured forth, looking into the silver bowl that was held transfixed upon the stone pedestal.

At first, she couldn’t see anything but her own reflection gazing back at her, but then the water changed.

_Bloodstained hands grasping onto kingsfoil, desperately trying to stop the hemorrhaging of blood. The hands seemed panicked, shaking but still clinging onto the healing herb with what little strength was left, before a second pair joined them, one hand pressing down onto the wound, the other holding down the kingsfoil._

The scene changed

_A piece of parchment, on it scrawled out beautifully in elvish ‘Iestil, Man gureg bêd?’_

The waves rippled once more.

_A single flower stared up at her in the hands of a shadowed figure—the golden color accented with a soft shade of silver that reminded her of sunlight—a noble radiance._

Before the person offering the flower could be seen, the scene changed once more,

_She saw nothing but crimson red, only to be replaced by the roaring waves of the black sea. Crashing down until the only thing she could see was the dark waters bubbling as the pale light of the surface grew dimmer-- something was pulling her down, suffocating her._

It was only then when she realized that she could not breathe.

With a gasp, she pushed herself away from the basin, heart racing and hands shaking, only to have her panicked gaze met by the unperturbed ones of Galadriel.

“What did I just see?”

“They are things that were, things that are, and things that yet may be. Not even I can predict what the mirror will show. But which things are which, I dare not say. For they are not mine to reveal. It is, however, very curious.”

“Curious?”

There was no reply for the Lady of Lórien, and Esteliel could only guess what thoughts were hidden behind the fair elf’s calm expression as she became under the scrutiny of Galadriel’s gaze once more—the light cerulean eyes searching her face, her expression. She had never felt more exposed in her life.

“Your name, do you know where it comes from?” the silence was finally broken.

“No my Lady. Lord Elrond was the one who bestowed it upon me when I told him that I had no recollection of my true name. He mentioned nothing of it,”

“Curious,” Galadriel repeated the word once more, this time a flicker of bemusement passing over her light blue eyes before she turned towards the water basin. “Deep down, he probably knew despite his doubts . . . otherwise there would be no other reason.”

“Forgive me, I do not believe I follow.”

“It had been hundreds of years since I’ve heard that name  _Esteliel_.” the intensity of Galadriel’s gaze grew stronger as she turned once again to face the other elf,

“Iestil, the name that you saw in the mirror, was her chosen name, given by her loved ones, but Esteliel was her mother-name. And it was the name that I gave to my second born daughter.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Aldol_ \- Welcome  
>  _Aphado nin, le nathlam hí_ \- You are welcome here  
>  _Im -_ My name is ____  
>  _Meleth Nîn_ \- My Love  
>  _Man gureg bêd?_ \- What does your heart say?  
>  _fëa & hröa _\- Soul & body (not sure if there's a term for it in Sindarin, so I just kept it in Quenya)
> 
> Sneak peek into the past? Or perhaps the future? More backstory of Esteliel is revealed, so we're slowly making headway! Originally, I was back and forth with her ancestry before I settled with Galadriel because I felt that it would fit the story more in the later chapters. (Originally I was planning it on being somewhere in Elrond’s lineage, then decided against it because the timeline didn't really fit LOL)
> 
>  **Headcanon 1:** Not really a headcanon, but I made a few changed the scenery of Lothlórien a bit, because it was a bit too dark and dreary for my tastes from the way it was depicted in the LoTR movies, so the descriptions I chose were based purely on my personal aesthetic. (More flowers, and more colors! I kinda envisioned it to look like a rustic fairy tale lol) I also changed what the mirror of Galadriel looked like compared to the movies to be a bit more aesthetically pleasing as well lol (it wound up reminded me of what a pensieve looked like from Harry Potter actually but I digress hahaha) Also gonna just assume that most of the dialogue was spoken in elvish (but obviously I couldn't translate everything because then nothing would make sense-- that and I can't translate anything anyways so . . . lol )
> 
>  **Headcanon 2:** It is stated that even Galadriel did not know what her mirror might show. I can only speculate that what is shown may or may not be known by her. (Past, present, future-wise) In LotR, she tells Frodo that what he sees will be a result if he fails – I’m assuming it’s because it was neither a past or present event, so it must have been the future. For Esteliel’s case, she knew of some, but not all, so she didn't wish to divulge any information that might otherwise be untrue.
> 
>  **Headcanon 3:** In terms of elvish reincarnation, I’m sticking towards Tolkein canon which expresses the importance of body and soul. There is of course a twist in this version since the re-embodied soul is supposed to have a body identical of that of what it was before. So it is here where I’m venturing off into a world of many hypotheses of how the body is reformed. This is come into play later in the chapters, but just writing this as a reference for now. (Mainly as a reminder for myself hahaha)
> 
>  
> 
> On a different note, I’ve added another work titled as: memoirs, which will serve to be the place that I plan to post various doodles/artwork of what may come or what has already happened in the story thus far along with some various headcanons that I have. (which by now, there are like 10000) Will be updated occasionally as my art muse tends to come out once in a while! :)
> 
> Aside from that, there will be somewhat of a timeskip somewhere in the next two chapters or so because finally (yes FINALLY) I’m planning to have Thranduil make another appearance once I finish up wrapping up this part of the backstory! :D


	6. A Reunion

The pain of losing a child is an emotion that no mother should ever experience in their lifetime. It was only a cruel twist of fate that Galadriel had experienced that grief not once, but twice. First, with her second born daughter, and second with her elder one. Both leaving Middle Earth far sooner than they should have. And both leaving Middle Earth to a place where she could not follow.

She remembered when she heard the news of her younger daughter’s death. It felt as if time itself had stopped and everything despaired. Even for someone who had seen death, who had seen destruction, it was devastating blow unlike anything she had ever experienced. And for many days after the news, all of Lothlórien grieved with her, singing laments of woe and of remembrance. The only one who might have mourned more than Galadriel was her elder daughter, Celebrían.

Ever since she was an elfling, there was nothing that Celebrían wanted more than a younger sibling. Growing up as an only child, she would often see other families (elves and dwarves alike) with their children playing together, and often she had wondered what it would be like to have a younger sister or brother— someone to grow up with and experience life together. Galadriel would often laugh at her daughter’s incessant inquiries of if she was ever going to get a younger sibling or not, only to reply to her daughter that Celebrían would just have to wait and see.

Raising a child was one of the joys that was cherished for many in the elvish culture; it, being one of the fondest memories elves had as they looked back throughout their lifetime. But raising a child was not without a cost. It was a mother’s worst fear should a child be raised during wartime for there would be no happiness during war, only pain and despair. Celebrían’s birth was during a peaceful time in Middle Earth it was before there were rings of power and before the brutality of war. Back when there was no strife between dwarves and elves, back when everything was simple and tranquil. It was before they had settled to Lothlórien, back when they had lived in the realm of Eregion.

Eregion was where most Ñoldorin elves called home in the Second Age, a land where dwarves and elves had once exchanged goods and services freely. And it was there where Galadriel and Celeborn had first ruled. But it was several years after the birth of her first child, Galadriel had sensed a darkness growing—a premonition of the future. There would be another war. And with war, Galadriel knew, there would be no peace for centuries to come.

If it wasn’t for Celebrían’s stubbornness, she would have never considered the possibility of conceiving a second child. Her husband Celeborn, seemed to be more welcoming of the idea, saying that if Celebrían were to have a pair, then the two could be each other’s support if war was to fall. _It would be better to face such strife with a companion,_ he had said. That it was easier to face adversary in numbers—there was strength in numbers. And so, she made a compromise with her daughter, who was still a child at that time (but who’s mind was far developed than any mortal child would have been at her age), asking her to promise to cherish and protect said hypothetical brother or sister if she were to have a sibling.

_You must teach him or her kindness, courage, but most of all, teach them love. Protect them with your heart, for they will be forever a part of your life going forward. There is no stronger bond than that made of blood._

As a child, Celebrían was always known for her nurturing persona, caring and taking care of various animals that lived around Eregion. Even in adulthood her radiant personality was much like her mother’s, able to lift the spirits and foster growth and development. She was adored by many in Rivendell. Her own children, Elrohir, Elladan, and Arwen were a true testament to her loving nature. Galadriel didn’t even need to look into her daughter’s heart to see that her intentions were pure, for Celebrían’s eyes had reflected the sincerity of her wish and the determination that she would keep her promise to be the best older sister that anyone could ever wish for.

 

* * *

 

When her youngest came into the world, Galadriel chose the name Esteliel for her as her mother-name, a name that symbolized hope and a name that reflected the growing elf’s personality.

_May you carry the light of hope, even in the darkest hour._

Celebrían was only too happy to welcome her younger sister into the world. And true to her word, she kept her promise that she made to her mother, teaching the younger elf of kindness, compassion, courage, and of the strength of love and Esteliel flourished under the teachings of her sister and parents. And with her first wish of a sibling fulfilled, Celebrían found herself having a second wish, a wish for happiness and for good times to come.

Much like her sister, Esteliel’s compassion extended further than most elves would growing up, and she often found herself chatting amongst the other races in Eregion, listening to their stories and sympathizing with them. There was a kindness that was instilled in her heart, and warmth in her soul, yet she often found that sometimes the best moments were when she was alone and in nature. She was more of a dreamer than her sister, who was more grounded, and often she would find herself simply gazing out into the landscapes that surrounded Eregion, usually alone and lost in thought.

 _Iestil_ was a name that was given to Esteliel by her loved ones as she grew and matured.  It meant ‘wish’ in common tongue but to her, it was a tribute towards her sister -- the wish for a sibling which had been fulfilled and a wish for happiness to come. And for a while, there was indeed happiness. But happiness came with a price, for the war that Galadriel had foreseen so many years beforehand had started, and soon, the War of the Last Alliance began. From then on, it would be nothing short of tragedy.

 

* * *

 

Iestil’s death, they had said, was death by an orcan chieftan on the peaks of Mount Gundabad. The details of that day were never spoken to the Lady of Lórien, the only thing that was told to her was that there was no body recovered—only a scattered memory left. It was only ironic that her elder daughter would fall into a similar fate while passing the roads of Redhorn Pass to her beloved homeland. So it was not once, but twice that Galadriel’s heart had wept. It felt as if the burdens of world were hers to bear alone. It hurt her far worse than her husband Celeborn, for although he too mourned the loss of his daughters, he could sail out to the West to see them once more. Galadriel could not. There was no going to the Undying lands for the ban of Mandos prevented it. Ñoldor elves such as herself were no longer welcome across the western seas, as long as it was declared by the Doomsman of Valar. So no longer would she see her daughter in the lands of Middle Earth, and no longer could she join them in the lands of Aman. It was true heartbreak to see the two things that were most precious to her taken away, never to be reunited. It wasn’t until a messenger had come bearing news from Lord Elrond did a flicker of hope return, giving her only the words: _One that was lost, might return._ It was only then, did a small glimmer of light appear behind a growing sea of doubt that had emerged from her heart. There could be no way, but the message stated otherwise. _Might._ Even if the chances were slim, that one word gave Galadriel hope. Hope that she might be reunited again. Hope in the name that was Esteliel.

 

* * *

 

At first it seemed impossible to Esteliel, and she of course doubted every single word said. But days following her arrival and the revelation at the Mirror of Galadriel, little by little, she slowly started to come to terms with it. And little by little, small pieces started to come together. And although it wasn’t much, Esteliel’s heart found itself being reasonable assured that she was not being led astray, for the vivid hues of blue of Galadriel’s that spoke to her did not waver the slightest.

Celeborn was all too happy to greet her once more as his daughter, and even Elrond greeted her with such kindness that only a brother-in-law could. (Actually cracking a smile from his usual stoic face) He of course, had much to apologize about and his actions in Rivendell were explained but after much explain on both ends, the two couldn’t help but laugh at the misunderstandings that had happened.

 _“You thought I was exiling you?”_ he had chuckled in bewilderment when she had explained what she had thought his intentions were, " _I hope you find it going forward, that I am not that heartless.”_

And soon days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months into years. Elrond and the majority of her accompanying party had returned to Imladris within the first week—only Aenor staying to experience the Lothlórien culture.

 _“Your sister is probably regrets her decision to sail to the West had she known that you would be returning to Middle Earth. A part of her began to fade from the moment she heard about your death, I can only imagine how it must have worn out her mind as years went on. You are of my kin, Iestil, you are always welcome in Imladris.”_ Elrond had said in his parting words to her.

 

* * *

 

As the first leaves of autumn transitioned from the summer into the cooler shades of fall, a rich auburn color spread across the forests of Lothlórien. Several years had passed since she had first arrived in Lórien, and those years seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. While most of her old memories never resurfaced, it brought Esteliel much joy and happiness to create new memories with those who she knew from before and to recreate new memories with those she had forgotten but had met once again from the past. But as the summers came and winters melted to spring, there were still questions that needed to be answered. For while the dark seas had grown less turbulent in her mind, they were still omnipresent. And Galadriel knew that the day would come once again when she had to say goodbye, but this time she knew it would not be one of tears.

“ _Iellig_ , I’m afraid I’ve been selfish, keeping you to myself for all these years.” Galadriel smiled sadly as she started upon her daughter’s eyes as she fastened a brooch to pin up the elvish cloak that fell upon Esteliel’s shoulders. It gave her some comfort to spend time with her younger daughter—to make up for all that time lost those many years ago. “Call it a Mother’s woe. To have you in my presence once more was more than anything I could have ever asked for. But I have been selfish.” She repeated once more as she drew back, stepping to be in line with her husband. A waning summer breeze sifted through the air, rustling the various leaves of a fiery hues through the branches of the trees. A few floated down around the trio of elves who stood in the middle of the clearing, beneath the white steps that disappeared off into the treetops above. Parting moments were always been bittersweet, but this one was of fondness, rather than of melancholy. Many other elves of Lórien had also come to send off the Daughter of Lórien, standing around behind the Lord and Lady of the forest, watching the small exchange of goodbyes.

”There are still many answers that you have to set out and seek. I am only sorry that I do not have all of them. Go west towards the Gray Havens. There you will find an elf named Círdan, Lord of Lindon. He has been blessed with a foresight even greater than mine. It is he who may have the answers that I do not. But knowledge, my child, can be a double edged sword. You must be willing to accept what you will hear the good and the bad, for wisdom can only be obtained with an open mind,” as the two pairs of eyes met one another, a gentle voice filled Esteliel’s head.

_Do not let the worries of your mind consume your heart._

“Travel the Northern route as you once came back to Imladris. I have but a small favor to ask this be delivered to Lord Elrond,” Galadriel spoke aloud once more, handing over a single piece of rolled up parchment which Esteliel tucked safely in one of her pockets, “Travel cautiously, and trust your heart, for the mind can often be deceived,”

“My Lady, these are as you requested,” the voice of Haldir interjected as the eye connection was broken. The watchman drew forth a small wooden chest, upon it adorned three strange markings—none of which were in elvish.

“Thank you,” came the words of the Lady of Lórien, drawing forward to take from the other elf’s hands before opening it. Within her hand fell a lone single necklace of silver that hung on a delicate chain – on it inlaid a single gem of radiant dawn upon a silver shaped flower of _mallorn_.

“Long ago, there were three stones that were once entrusted to me, Elessar, Árë, and Isilmë.” Galadriel spoke as she closed the box once more, handing it over to Haldir who in turn, gave it to another elf be put away. Holding up the necklace in her hand, she faced Esteliel once more and stepped towards her direction, “They are the stones of time, harmony, and memory. Elessar, the stone of time, allows the user to see things the way they once were—for what was old to be young once more. Árë, the stone of harmony, allows the user to bring light to troubling darkness– for where there is light, there is hope. And lastly, Isilmë, the stone of memory, allows the user to seek out the truths of the past in order to shape the future— for we cannot build a future without the lessons of the past and the actions of the present.”

There was a pause as she clasped the silvery necklace upon Esteliel’s neck, “To you, my daughter, I give the necklace of Árë. May it shield your heart from the unwanted evils of the world. It was once worn by your sister. I would think that she would find some comfort in knowing that it is now in your hands,”

Before Esteliel could express her gratitude over the beauty of the gift, Celeborn stepped up beside his wife, offering yet another present. A bow and a set of arrows were exchanged from his hands into hers, it was silver in color and carved with such meticulous detail, that it could have been easily mistaken an ornament instead of a weapon.

“The bow _Cuvallorn_ , made from the branches of our most treasured tree and silver arrows shaped by the waters that flow through Lothlórien. May they be of use if battle is to find you.”

“ _Adar_ , they are beautiful, but I’m afraid I’m not well versed in the skill of archery,” came Esteliel’s rather flabbergasted reply as she started upon the silver weapons.

She only received a chuckle from the silver-haired elf who was all too quick to exchange an amused glance with his wife, “May you find them of use, Iestil, if not now, then in the future,” Still at a loss of words, Esteliel could only string the bow across her back before facing the Lord and Lórien for one last time.

“ _Novaer_ , Iestil, _Na lû e-govaned vîn_ , my daughter.” A gentle kiss upon her forehead was given as the Lady and Lord of Lórien gave her a final embrace before stepping away, “Haldir will see it that you make it out of these woods safely,”

“ _Guren glassui, Naneth, Adar. Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham”_ she whispered in return before turning away from them towards the pathway that lead out into the open forests of Lothlórien.

 

* * *

 

A small bridge made of various stone and roots lead from the heart of Lothlórien to the forests surrounding it. The walk across it wasn’t bad, it was finding the bridge from the various pathways that mapped out the forest that was the hard part. Haldir was told to accompany her out of the forest were she had first entered many years back, and she was thankful for the taller elf’s guidance for she would have been horribly lost had it not been for his knowledge of the woods. But as the pair’s steps finished crossing the bridge, a singular voice called out from behind, “I think you’re forgetting something,” The soft auburn locks of hair matched the leaves that had adorned the trees above as the grinning face of Aenor made an appearance several steps behind, “Or perhaps someone?” He was dressed in a similar fashion as she was, adorned in a cloak blended with intricate elvish embroidery and clad in and outfit that was only fit for adventure.

“Aenor! I thought you were going to stay in Lothlórien?”

“I guess I got a little homesick,” the male elf replied with a light chortle, “Actually Lady Galadriel asked me to accompany you to Imladris. Surely you didn’t intend to start this journey out alone?” he raised an eyebrow in her direction. Much to the objection of the Lord and Lady of Lórien, Esteliel had refused any type of accompaniment on the way West—saying something along the lines of that it was her burden to bear alone. It was a rather alarming statement for Galadriel since she considered safety as most important. Looking back at it, no wonder Galadriel hadn’t tried arguing against it if she had planned to ask the male elf to accompany her daughter. It was Aenor who had accompanied Esteliel to Lothlórien, and she didn’t really have any objections as to why he couldn’t accompany her back.

Esteliel could only grin as she shook her head, “You are always welcome to join,”

 

* * *

 

The start of the journey was quiet as most were, the pair retracing the steps in which they had origianlly come from. They would be taking the Northern route once more as Galadriel had instructed, walking along the path that laid in-between the Lonely Mountains and the outskirts of Mirkwood. While neither of them had heard or sighted anything, they too the Lady of Lórien’s advice and traveled with caution. As the day quickly turned into night, the two elves continued on, occasionally bantering with each other, but most of the traveling was done in silence as to draw the least amount of attention to them as possible from the unseen predators and creatures that may come out during nighttime. (She was surprised considering that they had gotten as far as they had with those few words spoken for Aenor was usually quite the chatterbox) But such peace was sort lived as they neared the borders of eastern Mirkwood. The sun had set and the lands were illuminated by the light of the moon, there really wasn’t much to admire about the landscape for it was dark and rundown. And through the darkness an angry shout filled the air, the voice echoing off into the distance. It was followed by the snapping sounds of twigs being crushed—an eerie clicking sound accompanying it. Something was awake in the woods. Something had been disturbed.

“Aenor. Spiders.” She whispered as the duo came to a sudden halt once they were alerted by the scream in the night. Through the darkness, she could clearly see the eight-legged beasts from the shadows of the trees, traversing the forests with such speed that to the human eye, they would have been a blur. But there was something else that she couldn’t quite pinpoint clearly, something else that was darting between the trees. Something that the spiders were chasing, “I think someone’s in there,”

“Good for them,” came the quite witted reply, “Let us not get distracted and carry on,”

_“Aenor”_

The repeated emphasis on his name only drew an exasperated sigh from the male elf, “Do you not remember what happened the last time you decided to go gallivanting into those woods?” he shuddered as he recalled being chased by the hairy creatures along with being covered in what could only be described as slimy spider innards after fighting the beasts off. It wasn’t really a memory he wished to relive.

“Oh do have some heart in you. It’s all the more reason to help,” she quipped as she stepped away from their original path heading off into the woods, unsheathing the two blades hung at her sides.

“May Eru have mercy on our souls,” he sighed once more, following his companion into the heavily wooded area a scene that was very reminiscent of their journey to Lothlórien. This was for all thoughts and purposes, dejavu.

 

* * *

 

Sweat flowed from the copper-haired elf’s brow as she darted in between the trunks of the towering trees surrounding Mirkwood, occasionally pausing to shoot an arrow into the darkness. At nighttime, the shadows all the more menacing as they were swallowed up by the darkness that emitted from the ground. It was only thanks to the blessed eyesight of the elves that she was able to move as she with the dexterity that she was under the starlit sky on the black abyss that was once the ground. It was like a dance in a way. Yet it would be rather odd if someone were to say that they were dancing with spiders. As the swift tempo of arrows slicing through the air gradually increased, so did the squeals of pain – a signal that arrows had met their mark. But it was only after Tauriel realized that she had one arrow left, did she realize her predicament. Alone in the woods, vastly outnumbered. Arrows were probably the best way to keep the beasts at bay, being able to fire them from many yards away without a need to get close. But with the ammunition down to a single arrow, her options were running thin. She had attempted to loop around back to possibly pluck the used arrows from the fallen beasts’ bodies, but there were too many of them trailing her to even decide which direction to turn to. She still had a set of daggers, but based off the numbers that she had seen, Tauriel could only guess that she would only be able to take out a quarter of the spiders that were trailing her before the rest would ultimately take her down.

The amount of spider webs grew in number as they chased her from the heart woods—towards the outskirts of the woodlands. The sticky silk-like threads at first were thin at first, but then she saw the impenetrable sheets of web that were strung from tree to tree as the was drawn closer and closer to the border of the forest. It would be impossible to escape if she went that way. And it would take far too long to cut down.  They were intending to trap her.

For beasts purely created for evil, she had to give them credit that they were smarter than she had anticipated, blocking off her only escape path out, a foolproof way to catch their prey-- to have them cornered and immobilized before going in for the kill. Unfortunately for Tauriel, it lead to her last and only option. Unsheathing the two daggers from their sheaths, she quickly sidestepped several more webs that hung just barely off the forest floors before lunging towards the direction she had come from and towards the eight legged creatures that came rushes towards her from the dark abyss.

But before she could reach any of the monstrous arachnids, an arrow sped past her, narrowly missing her own head. The squelching sound from the darkness in front of her meant that another spider had been taken down. Her footsteps screeched to a halt as she took a second to comprehend what had just happened. But what happened next, happened in a blur. Two hooded figures darted from the trees behind her and into the spider fray and Tauriel followed suit—graciously accepting any help that was provided. Appendages flew all around, weapons slashed, and pincers angrily clicked, but it all ended when the last blow deafening blow was dealt to the last spider by an elvish blade adorned in a white hilt. And as it lay twitching at his feet, Aenor withdrew his sword from its head and flicked off the bits of spider entrails that had stuck onto the blade before turning towards Tauriel’s direction, exasperation in his eyes.

“Are you out of your mind?! Or perhaps, you have a death wish?”

“Peace Aenor, I know her face.” Esteliel interrupted her friend’s angry barrage of questions. Inquisitively, she stepped towards the copper-haired female, “You are that elf from the burial.” She quietly stated.

“Yes. I of course would dare not to forget the face that saved my life before. I thank you for your words back then. For while my heart is still wistful, I am at peace,” the copper-haired elf replied with a nod of acknowledgement doing her best to wipe away the spider gunk that now covered pretty much everything, “I do not believe I’ve given you my name, I am called Tauriel. I do not know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me,”

“You probably would have turned into a tasty desser-“

“I am Esteliel, and this, is Aenor.” Esteliel quickly interjected, shooting a warning look to her companion, “Might I ask why you were being chased in the first place?”

“Once upon a time these forests were once green and full of life. And thus the name Greenwood was given to it. Now they are full of darkness and full of death, and so Mirkwood it was renamed. A shadow has spread across these lands. And with the darkness came the spiders. They do not leave the forest. And I can only fear that the shadows that surround these southern parts are only growing-- only this time towards the north. As long as there is no light, they will remain, but I fear for what is yet to come.”

“And what of your king? Does he not do anything about it?”

“I’ve tried telling Lord Thranduil before that we cannot keep on killing spiders as they come, and that we must to kill them at their source. But he does not wish to meddle in the affairs outside his kingdom so as long as the spiders do not enter his domain in the north, there is nothing that he will do about the southern parts of these woods. I could not convince him then and I certainly doubt I’d be able to convince him now. I’ve spent these past several years traveling these lands, searching for their origins. It was only recently where I found their den—their lair. I’m afraid I tried biting off a little more than I could chew. I didn’t not expect their numbers to be so many,”

As silence filled the air as Tauriel finished her story, Esteliel’s respect for the other female grew tenfold. To take on such a burden head on, and alone for that matter—surely it was a recipe for disaster.

“It is not your burden to carry, this is one battle that should not be done alone,” she echoed her sentiments, looking at the elf straight in the eye. “If Thranduil is any kind of king, surely he would show some support to those serving him,”

“I’m afraid I have been banished from these woods from even before we first met. But this is the only home I know, I dare not abandon it,”

Anger bubbled within Esteliel at Tauriel’s words. _Egocentric_ and _ignorant_ were the two words that she had parted the Elvenking with, and apparently she wasn’t that far off based of what she had heard from Tauriel. But before she was able to voice her unyielding opinion of the Elvenking (something that was probably best unsaid), a small belting cry interrupted her. And in an instant, all three elves were on their feet, weapons drawn.

“What was that?” asked Aenor quietly, sword drawn at the ready. Tauriel’s eyes shifted from left to right, surveying the area, but she didn’t reply. With the nimbleness only an elf could possess, she silently treaded around a group of sullied trees wielding her blades in case if something were to attack. She disappeared for several minutes as Esteliel and Aenor waited in silence, exchanging various glances as a form of communication.

“It is alright,” at last the voice of the Silvan elf spoke, and the other two followed the steps in which Tauriel had disappeared off into earlier. They came across multiple webs of various shapes and sizes – many dangling small bugs and animals, the ones that were empty appeared to have been cut down by the female elf.

“Over here,” the heard her voice once more. Very cautiously, weapons still drawn, the neared the spot where they had last heard her voice before seeing the fiery locks of hair peak out behind the trunk of a fallen tree. It was only when they saw that Tauriel had discarded her weapons nearby did they put theirs away as well.

“What is it?” Aenor questioned hesitantly.

“It’s an elk calf,” came the reply as the two headed around the trunk to join her. The baby animal seemed to be in fine condition aside from a small gash on its leg where it seemed to have gotten attacked. “It is injured, but the leg is not broken. It must have gotten stung by one of these spiders for I do believe it cannot move as it is right now,”

“But where did it come from?” came another question from the male elf, “From the looks of it, there seems to be no life left around these parts,”

“My guess is that it strayed too far south and got chased into these parts of these woods by something. There are many herds of elk in the northern parts of Mirkwood where it is safer-- where the shadows have not yet spread. It is within Lord Thranduil’s northern realms where they are protected,”

Kneeling down beside Tauriel and the wounded elk, Esteliel inspected the animal’s wound before she held out her arm, palm up towards Aenor, not once looking away from the calf, “Aenor, give me your knife,”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your knife,” she repeated before she felt cool metal being placed into her hand and withdrew her hand, glancing at the blade that was given to her. It was smaller than her own blades, so in theory, it would be easier to slice through something thinner . . .

“You’re not going to slay it are yo---“ Aenor never got to finish off the question for he was interrupted by the sound of the blade slashing through the air. Then there was silence. A pale strip of fabric rested in her hand as Esteliel casually returned the knife to its owner. The cloak spun of elven cloth now had a jagged looking edge of it as the strip of fabric was forcefully removed.

“It’s the best I can do around these parts.” She muttered as she firmly wrapped the piece of cloth around the elk’s injured leg as a bandage. The cloth that came from the cloak was one that able to repel the elements and shield the wearer from enemies—it seemed to have repelled most of the spider blood too. So in terms of sterile things, it was the best option she had in the web-filled woods at that hour of night, “Aenor, do you think you would be able to carry it?”

“Surely you jest,” came the aghast voice from the male, “I mean yes, it may be a calf, but the weight of it must be equal to at least two fully grown dwarves clad in armor,”

“And are you to say that you do not possess the strength to carry two fully grown dwarves?” she chided back, earning a stifle of laughter from Tauriel. Realizing that his words had been used against him, and he had completely walked into the lose-lose situation on his own, there was no reply from Aenor, only a feigned indignant grumble as he gingerly picked up the elk calf, hauling it over his shoulder where it hung and cried rather pathetically. “And where are we to go now?” he asked with his best attempt at a scowl plastered on his face.

With a look of amusement, Tauriel replied, biting back the laughter in her voice as she did her best to keep a straight face from the ridiculous sight in front of her, “We walk north,”

 

* * *

 

It was a clear night devoid of clouds, one that was perfect to view the stars in the moonlit sky. Hundreds of thousands of stars littered the sky for as far as the eye could see, it was like a sheet of diamonds—but even gems could not truly capture the beauty of the celestial skies. A small smile escaped the lips of the Elvenking as he stood atop the hillside overlooking his kingdom gazing at the lights of twilight. They often came there to look at the stars together; each, he had said, was a precious memory they had together. He remembered her laughter as it filled the air when he told her even all the stars in all of Middle Earth weren’t enough to count all the memories that he had spent with her. But now, as he stood beneath the pale tree illuminated by the moon, only nostalgia remained.

It was also the place she had often visited when she wanted to be alone, an escape from the world.  It was also the place where they had first met so many years ago. And it was also where he came every so often to reminisce, for it was only there where he took off the cool façade that he continued to wear throughout the many years.

There was nothing he wished more than to have her back. But even he knew it was impossible, the stars often gave him some solace away from the rest of the world. Reminding him of the things that once were. Cool steel-blue eyes with the warmth to melt spring. They were only memories now, but they were dear memories to the Elfking.

Even after all this time.

_Goheno nin, Iestil._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Iellig_ \- my daughter  
>  _Árë & Isilmë_: Sunlight & Moonlight (in Quenya)  
>  _Novaer_ – Farewell  
>  _Cuvallorn_ \- Crescent of Mallorn  
>  _Na lû e-govaned vîn_ \- Until next we meet  
>  _Adar_ \- Father  
>  _Naneth_ \- Mother  
>  _Guren glassui_ \- Thank you from my heart  
>  _Guren níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham_ \- My heart shall weep until I see you again  
>  _Goheno nin_ \- Forgive me
> 
> LONGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG CHAPTER. And a lot of time skip (kinda) I always found time skips hard to write without sounding dull or with awkward transitions, so there's a lot of jumping around in this chapter. This kinda wound up being a ‘filler’ chapter for the next chapter that’s coming up because I figure it’s better to pay out the groundwork than nothing at all. ~___~ It's a very tedious process because I kinda just wanted to jump to the next chapter right away, but it wouldn't make any sense to you guys how I got there so here is more backstory LOL
> 
> I really wanted to have Thranduil and Esteliel meet in this chapter, but it grew to be too long and I was losing my patience, so I added him in at the end since it's been like two chapter since he appeared LOL. BUT Esteliel and the Elvenking will definitely meet once more in the next chapter! (FINALLY & ABOUT TIME)
> 
> Also sorry this took a while to get up—lots of birthday festivities this past and upcoming weekends! That aside, I think I’ve designated Aenor as my comedic relief of the series because I need to have some sass one way or another otherwise it would just be suspense. (He’s really a cheerful and lovable dork who's backstory will be coming up soon!) So hopefully I’ll have more dialogue later of the sassmaster in action. And hopefully this gives you guys more information and insight about Esteliel’s family tree. I actually have really cute headcanons of when her and Celebrian were younger & more backstories galore, but all in due time things will be revealed!
> 
>  **Headcanon 1** : Elessar = Evenstar in the movie version? Gonna stick it with the theory that Gandalf gave it to Galadriel to hold onto which is more towards book-verse. It will eventually go to Aragorn somewhere down the line-- prolly when he visits with Frodoooo during Fellowship which is still a long way off. Regarding the other two, Árë & Isilmë, they’re something I totally made up for the sake of this fic. They’ll come into play sometime in the future, but those three are the trifecta! I kept their names in Quenya to fit along since Elessar is also in Quenya.
> 
>  **Headcanon 2** : Spiders are still in Mirkwood – I don’t think they’ll fully be gone until the One Ring is destroyed. Until then, it seems as if they’re trying to take over Thranduil’s land . . . too bad he’s not doing anything about it pffft
> 
>  **Headcanon 3** : In the perfect world, Galadriel would have sent an entorage to accompany Esteliel, but since she had refused, Galadriel could only turn to Aenor (who was someone that she knew that her daughter wouldn't object to travling with) to ask him to accompany her. That and he's a pretty skilled fighter all things considered. But it was also what she had seen in his mind that made the Lady of Lorien know that her daughter would be in safe hands. (The Aenor at the end of this chapter probably regrets everything now as he's lugging a baby elk with him HAHAHA)
> 
>  **Headcanon 4** : I’d like to envision Tauriel as some sort of badass vigilante who tries to defend her old homeland-- aka taking matters into her own hand despite being banished. But sometimes things are really hard to do alone-- so she joins Esteliel’s party. YAY NEW FRIENDS! :) (That and LoTR/the Hobbit series needs more female leads tbh.)


	7. A Door

He remembered when they first met. It was when the first blossoms of spring had just emerged from the tips of the overhanging branches above the Woodland Realms, the soft scent of the wind bringing life back to the woods after the barren stillness of winter. It was the sound of her laughter that caught his attention first, a gentle chords that reminded him of a soft lullaby that came from the strumming harps. Their eyes had met very briefly moments after; hers turned back towards her older sister, but not before offering a simple smile in his direction to acknowledge his presence. It was then when he felt his heart skip a beat for the first time.

He remembered when he first heard her voice. It was when the stars painted the blank canvas of the night sky, glittering like diamonds across the vast sea of twilight. She didn’t say much, but it was what she had said that stood out to him the most, _“They say that the stars may give us insight about the future,”_ he had heard her comment to her sister.

_“Do you believe it?”_

_“I believe it is not in the stars where our destinies lie, but within ourselves,”_

It was then when he knew that there was something special about her.

He remembered the first time when he finally had the chance to speak to her alone. How he had bumped into her unaccompanied, completely by chance. And what a fool he had been, stumbling over his words and becoming increasingly flustered the moment he had realized that they were completely alone. He remembered how he had stammered out his first words, heart pounding in his ears, his nerves retaliating against him—his very being becoming completely unraveled. And he remembered how he had thought that surely, he had ruined any opportunity to speak to her in the future for it was not befitting of a prince to turn into something that resembled nothing more than a clumsy dwarf trying to mount a steed. But she gave no inclination that she took notice of the hot mess that he became, instead, she had given him that same warm smile that she had given him when they had first locked eyes the day she arrived in Greenwood, the words spoken to him, inviting conversation. It was then when he knew that he wanted to see her again.

He remembered the first time that they had kissed. Standing alone in the rain underneath the rustic leaves of fall, hearts full and heavy with emotion. He remembered getting lost in her eyes, and how he felt his heart being enraptured by an emotion he had never felt before as their lips met over and over again underneath the moonless sky. It was then when he knew that there was no one other than her that he’d rather be with.

He remembered when they exchanged vows. Her soft eyes of silvery blue staring fondly into his own, a beautiful smile painted upon her rosy lips as she uttered the words that made his heart flutter with joy. _“Anthon 'uren anden,”_ It was then when he finally felt complete.

And he remembered her death. Her misty eyes growing faint, slowly fading away from life and passing onto a different world. The color red blossoming across her porcelain skin, a single phrase directed to him before she slipped away to an eternal slumber beneath the pools of crimson that painted the battlefield “ _Promise me_ ,” It was then when his world was shattered into a million pieces, never to be picked up again. And it was then when his heart grew so very cold, and so very distant, just like the stars they had often gazed upon—something that was once so close becoming slowly out of reach.

 

* * *

 

Even now there was still an emptiness in his chest as he stared once more into the moonlit sky, a hollow void that constantly reminded him of the burdens of the past. They were eternities away now, but even as much as the Elvenking had tried to suppress his emotions, there was not a day that went by since he came back from Erebor that he had not thought about her. It wasn’t until Thorin’s funeral when he realized that he was no less ill than the dwarf had been with the Arkenstone as he had been with the necklace—blindsided by obsession without a sense of morality. He was no less ill, and no less guilty of his own actions and words that had been done and said during his pursuit for the jewels. Many of his men had died from his selfishness and it was an unforeseen consequence that cost him even the presence of his son. Only after he could only regret the things that had been said and done. Never had he lost himself in such obsession before. And never had he wanted any of it. But mad desire could throw anyone off the path of righteousness—and even kings could fall victim to such a corruption of the mind.

It was when the newly crowned Dáin passed down the small chest into his hands had he wanted a way to atone for his actions-- the raging fire that had fueled his obsession slowly began to ebb away, waking him from the trance he had been under. He remembered his fingers trembling to open the chest that contained the gems that he had wanted for so long, it was a moment he had waited for centuries.

Desire was the poison that ultimately led to Thorin’s downfall, but it most certainly wasn’t Thranduil’s—it seemed to have spared him from a similar fate, only to slap in the face with the stark reality instead. He often would muse silently to himself if, perhaps, death was the better option of the two. To lose yourself to your own thoughts? Or to face the reality of your own actions? Since when did he fall so hard as to put up his men up for slaughter? Since when were these the actions of a king?

He had inadvertently broken the promise he had made with her. And for what? Gems as white as starlight, a token of a piece of memory that he had left. It was ironic, to lose himself over but a memory. But even so, if he had one wish, it would be her. But he knew such thoughts were the very cause of his delusion and if she were still alive that she would surely admonish his actions.

And so, he vowed never again would he let such a thing cause him to stray from his beliefs. And never again would he break his word and keep true to the promise he had once made. He vowed that he would redeem himself for all the hardships he had put his people through. It was through reflection and of finally obtaining what he longed for when there when he realized he had gotten what he had wanted—but with a price. For some reason, it made him feel no more whole. He was still as lost as before, but the precious gems gave him some comfort to quell his troubled mind. They also possessed a great reminder to him of the story behind their inception, and it was then when the memories from within him came pouring out of the darkness he had kept them in.

 

* * *

 

He remembered when she had told him that she was with child, and how his heart had soared when he found out that he was to be a father, and her, a mother. It was a moment he knew he would cherish for the rest of his life, to welcome a new family member. It was something that made him both anxious, but excited. To be a father.

As he fondly remembered, there was a feast to celebrate the conception of his heir, a celebration that lasted for days on end. All of his kingdom seemed to celebrate the coming of a new prince or princess to the Woodland Realms. To commemorate the conception of their child, she had given him something that had been given to her from her mother, a silver necklace that captured the radiance of the moon. Isilmë, it was called, a gem of memory.

‘ _May it keep your memories safe.’_ She had whispered to him when she enclosed his fingers around the silver trinket, giving him a chaste kiss on lips to which he remembered he returned, but returned with a heated passion as his reply. And it was then when he wanted to give something that rivaled even the beauty of the moon—to give her something that might match the happiness she gave him.

He found inspiration from the stars, the very stars whose presence came out only at night alongside the moon—always together and rarely seen apart. And thus, it became his own little secret that he had in his safekeeping, to have a necklace made enlaced with iridescent gems that could only be of pure starlight. A necklace befitting of the love and tenderness that she had given him, a necklace that could stand on its own next to the beauty of the one of Isilmë, a necklace worthy to be worn by the Queen of the Woodland Realms – a necklace that could even make the stars envious. It would be something that could express his feelings in a way that words would not do justice. And it had gone according to plan, until tragedy struck and she was taken away from him before the necklace could be completed, leaving him with just a memory to live off of and a broken soul that could never be repaired. It was then when the stars and moon no longer shined in unison to him. They were now far away, unreachable and unobtainable.

 

* * *

 

For centuries he had mourned and for centuries he couldn’t bear to look at the token of love given to him by her. He had kept it hidden, locked up safe away and away never to be seen again. He couldn’t bear to relive the heartache all over again, to relive the memories knowing fully well that there could be no more to be made. It wasn’t until he had heard the news of Celebrían’s death had he dared to look upon the jewel inlaid in silver. He knew that her older sister had meant the world to her and for Celebrían to die almost in an eerily similar way; he found it to be bitterly ironic.

He remembered when he looked upon the multifaceted stone once more, how unlike what he previously had thought, it gave him a sense of warmth and a sense of remembrance instead of one of pain and heartache. It was then when he remembered her words.

 _‘May it keep your memories safe’._ It hadn’t occurred to him that perhaps there was a deeper meaning to her words, but as he stared through the silvery gem, waves of old memories and of old emotions came surging through him. He could remember everything. Her laughter, her smile, her eyes, her scent, her touch. And soon, his mind was surrounded by only calming memories of her, everything he loved about her. To keep his memories safe. He could only shake his head in realization there was indeed a true meaning behind her words—to remember the past with love not of sadness. To remember bliss felt during times of joy, and to let them be untarnished from darkness brought by times of grief. Time hadn’t healed his wounds, but it had made them more bearable. Her spirit lived on in the memories he had of her, fond memories that he would no longer hide from. And it was then when he desired to obtain the gems of starlight once more, so that the stars and moon would shine side by side in memory of each other.

The stones that he sought for, he had originally given to the dwarves to craft and forge. The masters of stone, as stubborn as they were, were also prideful of their handiwork, and were not ones to pass up an opportunity to display their talents. And so, a deal was struck, for them to create a necklace whose beauty rivaled even the stars. The dwarves were handsomely rewarded in gold and other fine gems, but it was when the Elvenking handed over the stones which were to be crafted did he see their eyes truly light up, entranced by the beauty. It didn’t go un-noticed by the Elvenking but he spoke nothing of it, for a deal was a deal and he expected it to be honored fairly. And so it was much to his disgust when they dismissed his presence when he returned to Erebor once more, so many years later to reclaim what was rightfully his.

It was when Thrór held title as King Under the Mountain, back when dragon sickness all but overpowered the Dwarvish king’s brain, riddling his mind in paranoia. He remembered coming into the heart of the mountain, requesting the gems that he had paid for to be returned, but the dwarves refused to hand them over, for they too, had grown fond of the white jewels. They had tantalized him by showing him the finished product, only to close the lid in front of his face. He had felt anger that paralleled a dragon’s rage that day, and it took everything in his willpower to not slaughter every single dwarf who stood in between him and the chest that contained those precious sentiments. They had betrayed their word to him and it was unforgivable. He had left shortly after, before his emotions could get the best of him, but it was then which sparked the start of many long years of bitterness towards their race that would extend for centuries to come. And it was then when the first seed of obsession took root in the depths of his mind.

 

* * *

 

Underneath the golden leaves of a mallorn he stood alone in thought, beneath the leaves that hummed a low tune in the passing by breeze-- a sea of gold sprawling across the ground in front of him for as far as the eye could see. The flower of the river bubbled merrily in the darkness, lining the borders of his kingdom and the walls of stone that kept it safe. Golden flowers in the shape of stars faced the night sky, glittering and sifting through the breeze in waves as the trees in the vicinity followed suit.

Even now, he could feel nothing but the steady beating of his heart as the moonlight shone upon his skin, illuminating his features that were hidden in shadows just moments before. In one of his hands, clasped between the fine chains of silver, a lone gem gleamed from his palm, a gem that captured the brilliance of the moon. And in the other, iridescent gems of white that captured the magnificence of the starlight that reflected upon them. There was only one final piece that he was missing, for his heart to be fully complete—her. But he knew and had accepted that there would always be a void there, a piece that would remain lost, but not forgotten. It gave him an odd sense of comfort though, gazing upon the two side by side—it was bittersweet. As the soft glow of the gems reflected upon his eyes he could only close his eyes in remembrance. He had finally gotten what he wished for so many years ago-- for the stars and the moon to shine brightly side by side once more.

 

* * *

 

Out of all the places Tauriel had expected to end up, back behind the gates of Mirkwood was probably the last place she ever envisioned herself to be. Atop the smooth granite stones that graced the floor, beneath the interwoven branches of the ceiling above, within the familiar halls that lay intertwined with the very heart of the northern forests. It was almost as if she was reliving a fond memory of the past, but only a memory nonetheless.

It had been her home for so many years, it was only natural for her to feel nostalgia, but she told herself that it would be short lived, for they were just like a passing breeze, leaving as quickly as they had come. But how the copper haired elf along managed to get there in the first place was a story of itself.

Tauriel had lead the other two elves, elk calf in tow (much to Aenor’s chagrin), to the outskirts of Thranduil’s realm in the Northern parts of Mirkwood. It was an area further away from where she had once patrolled the lands in the past, slightly past the line where the decrepit trees that were full of death and destruction were replaced with sturdier trees of fine oak and maple. The direct route that lead to the elk herds of Mirkwood would have been a direct cut across Thranduil’s land and towards the East, but she was not willing to risk getting caught and captured as a prisoner for the Elvenking that she knew in the past would not be so inviting to someone who had been banished despite having showed her some compassion back on Ravenhill. And so she had chosen to lead the group around the long way, looping around the southern parts of Thranduil’s domain eastward before heading north.

The change in scenery had been welcomed by all three elves, thankful to leave the murkiness of the shadows and thankful to enter to serene forests that was spread out before them underneath the starlight. And for the first time that night, things were tranquil. But it didn’t take much to disturb the peace.

She had initially thought that they were far away enough to go undetected by any guards of Thranduil’s only to be sadly mistaken moments later. Ironically out of everyone, it was the elk calf who had sensed that something was amiss. Having regained control over his legs on the journey north, the young calf seemed to appreciate the presence of the three elves and had walked alongside them as they ventured further into more familiar lands. He could have run away the moment he remained control of his limbs, but had chosen not to, something that was remarked upon by Aenor who had taken a liking to the small calf, christening with a name of _Uial_ much to the amusement of the two females. However it was as they were closing in on the eastern borders of Thranduil’s lands when something had spooked the calf, for he had abruptly paused mid step, frozen in place with ears perked up and alert, before in one fluid motion bounded off into the darkness of the surrounding woods, leaping from the three elves and darting between trees only to grow quickly out of sight in no time flat. It was then when they had realized that they weren’t alone and it was then when they had realized too late. No sooner had they unsheathed their weapons were they met with at least a half a dozen arrows being pointed at them.

 _“Tauriel,”_ an amused voice had spoken behind one of the taut bows, _“It’s been awhile,”_

 _“Lethuin”_ the copper-haired elf had replied in return, having recognized the tenor tones of the speaker, but not lowering her weapons the slightest _, “I see that you’ve taken on a new title as Captain of the Guards”_

Her comment was met with a light smile from the elf that she had addressed _, “I’ve only learned the skills of the trade from the elf who held this position prior. . . But alas she was banished from Mirkwood several years past, never to be seen again . . . until this very moment . . . Or perhaps, she has forgotten the meaning of the word ‘banishment’?”_

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, it was a stroke of luck that they were found by Lethuin, for if it was someone else, they probably would not have been treated as kindly as they had been. He was an old friend of hers, serving underneath her back when she held his current position as Captain of the Guards. Along with Legolas, the three of them would often use each other as sparring partners and while the youngest of the three elves would often lose against the two older ones, Lethuin had proven himself to be a worthy fighter.

Tauriel was only relieved when her words of acknowledgement were met by a cheeky jest in her direction when he had them surrounded in Mirkwood just hours before. It also warmed her heart to see that even time and a brand of banishment hadn’t ruined the friendship they had built so many years past.

Once things had been sorted and their side explained, Lethuin had insisted that the trio come back to Mirkwood stating that it was not safe to be traveling the woods at night which was met with much protest from Tauriel and of Aenor.

 _“I do not believe it is wise that I return to a place where I am no longer welcome,”_ Tauriel had objected.

 _“We were honestly just passing by on our journey to Imladris,”_ Aenor had also pitched in.

 _“While I understand your concern, it is Lord Thranduil’s orders that no one is to be on our lands at nightfall, including those who are merely ‘passing by’ and even --those who are banished.”_ The younger elf had noted, addressing both of their rebuttals, _“Unless of course, if you want to be taken in prisoners, that option is also open as well,”_

Lethiun’s statement was met by silence of all three elves, none of which wanted the latter option. But it was ultimately Esteliel to whom both Tauriel and Aenor’s eyes had fallen upon as if asking her to make a choice. As much as she didn’t want to enter the realms of the Elvenking who had left such a negative impression to her, she felt as if there was no other choice. _“Very well, we will stay but only until the first light of dawn,”_

 

* * *

 

“It has been awhile since I’ve seen these halls,” Tauriel remarked as she glanced around the enclosure that they had been placed. Vast archways loomed overhead of stone and bark, interlaced together in a simple fashion, but elegant nonetheless. Small buds of white flowers bloomed within the intertwining twigs and branches that formed into the columns that rose into the ceiling, faint rays of moonlight peeking through from the sky above. The Halls of the Elvenking was a sight to behold, a vast underground structure of connecting tunnels and bridges that connected various passageways. It was built in a way which allowed the light of the skies to enter many chambers of the halls, providing the elves with a small taste of the outdoors. A lone river flowed through the kingdom, flowing from the northern halls down to the south where it continued on past the borders of the kingdom.

“I heard stories of them, they said that they possessed a simplistic beauty—simple, but elegant,” Esteliel said, following the gaze of the other female, taking in the architectural wonder that she had only heard of in passing, “It is only a pity for the lands to have dwindled down to as they are now,”

“They say when Mirkwood used to be Greenwood, that these woods possessed a beauty that even rivaled the ones of Lothorien. Before the shadows came, Woodland elves used to dwell in the treetop canopies of the forests, but these days, the trees provide little safely and so underground halls were built to protect those who resided here. A fortress, it was called, but we elves are not creatures of the darkness, nor are we creatures to be confined. Which is why we still have access to the splendor of the skies as you can see now, and which is why the inner halls of the underground are as vast as the forests are-- to provide the freedom that we once had without sacrificing safety.”

“It is also said that the heart of the halls of the Northern forests holds something of great beauty and mystery, it speaks of a door?” Aenor spoke up from his position on a bench, “or so the rumors say from Imladris,”

“Oh it is but only a myth,” Taruiel replied in bemusement, “I am surprised to find out that such stories have made it all the way to Imladris. It is something that I have not heard about in ages,”

“But such a thing exists does it not? A door that refuses to open— holding a treasure that cannot be unlocked” Aenor pressed on.

There was a pause as all eyes were glued towards Tauriel as if beckoning her to answer, even Esteliel found herself intrigued despite knowing that rumors largely were, untrue. With a sigh Tauriel spoke once more, eyebrows knit together, “I cannot deny that there isn’t a door, but such rumors often stretch the truth. A door there is, but it is unlikely it holds anything of treasure behind,” the copper-haired elf continued, raising a doubtful eyebrow at the sound of the new allegations that Aenor had mentioned. “Lord Legolas and I came across it one day when we were younger. It was within the gardens located in the northeast of the kingdom, enclosed within the eastern walls. Hidden beneath an ivy alcove behind the reflecting pool that stands behind the various plants of different shapes and sizes, it is almost camouflaged amongst the slabs of stone that make up our borders. We would have never noticed it had it not been for a passing breeze which gave us a fleeting glimpse of carvings upon stone beneath the tendrils of ivy. Upon the surface there were inscriptions that even we could not read, but only a line inscribed in elvish that was written upon the archway, _‘Speak my name and enter.’_ And so we stood in front of the stone wall, saying all the names we could think of—even the one of Lord Thranduil’s,” she paused and smiled as she recalled the memory, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of her past actions.

“And did anything happen?”

“Nothing at all,” answered Tauriel wryly, “But I’m sure with every retelling of the story, it has only grown more elaborate, and more untrue. But be rest assured, I do not believe that there is another side to that door for no one in these realms has ever seen it open since these Halls were constructed,”

 

* * *

 

Feren paced nervously across the stone floors, his steps echoing off into the vast ceilings that enclosed the throne room, as his eyes occasionally flickered towards the entrances leading in and out of the sprawling halls. But the bridges and staircases were all bare and devoid of any presence. This was a relatively normal sight for that time at night, and it would have been taken as such had it not been for his current predicament.

Before they had left for Dale, the borders of Mirkwood were patrolled by Tauriel and several guards underneath her. The female elf had done a notable job in securing the borders even if she did get into trouble from time to time, but the one thing she had mentioned to Thranduil that the Elvenking had ignored, was the ever increasing presence of spiders in their lands. She had wanted to kill them from at their source, but Thranduil had objected, stating that as long as they did not venture further into his territory that it was simply not his problem and that he would leave things as they were. But it became a problem once they had returned from Erebor. The darkness that had plagued the southern forests had spread towards the north. And little by little, the forests succumbed to a black death— by a shadow that remained hidden and out of sight. And smaller and smaller Thranduil’s lands became. And yet, the Elvenking still refused to send troops into the southern part of the woods. Only this time, he had a different reason; saying that he did not wish to put his army up against a foe that remained hidden—that he was not willing to risk any of his people’s lives on a wild goose chase that might have led to nowhere.

 

* * *

 

The Thranduil that had left for the Lonely Mountain was not the same as the Thranduil who had returned. Feren knew not what had caused such a sudden change, but it didn’t take a fool to guess that the answer revolved around that necklace that Thranduil’s mind had been reeling over since the initial rejection from Erebor that lead originally left him with a bitter resentment towards dwarves.

Feren had been there from the beginning, back when Thrór denied the Elvenking the white gems, and he had been there to witness the first fit of unyielding fury that ravished the Elvenking’s mind and had burned others through his actions when he returned to Mirkwood. Feren had been there when Thranduil turned his back to the rest of Middle Earth, cooping himself up in his kingdom, isolating himself and his people from anyone and everyone. He had been there when Thranduil’s anger seemed to have dwindled away by the passing of time—the news of the dragon Smaug surely playing a role in the lust of the gems, for it was no easy task in fighting a dragon.  And he had all but thought that Thranduil had given up on such a quest until a group of unexpected dwarves graced the Woodland Halls.

Feren was there when the flame of an obsession once forgotten was rekindled by none other than Thorin Oakenshield when the dwarf was brought to him in his quest to reclaim Erebor, and Feren was there as the Elvenking fell deeper into the darkness that was desire, for Thorin had provided the very thing that breathed life to embers within Thranduil’s mind – hope, hope that there was still a chance—a possibility in reclaiming that jewels that he sought for centuries on end. It was a blind desire from then on out, and Feren found himself unable to quell the raging flame that took control of Thranduil’s mind once more, only to sadly obey the orders that came from his king’s mouth as Elvenking’s mind became further deluded with obsession.

But something changed the moment when the small wooden chest was handed over to Thranduil, it was as if someone had doused his entire soul with water for Feren could sense not an ounce of rage in Thranduil from then on—there was only remorse. Remorse over the lives lost, and remorse over his lapse in judgement. It was as if he had awoken from a spell that he had been put under, only to see the costs of war.

“ _Forgive me, Feren.”_ were the first words Thranduil had spoken to him once they had returned back to Mirkwood. _“No words can describe my regret. . . she would be ashamed to see what a fool have I become,”_

The last segment of Thranduil’s sentence was barely a whisper, but it was with that sentence alone that reaffirmed to Feren that something inside the Elvenking had changed, for that was the every first time that Feren had heard Thranduil mention his wife, if not by name, by reference.

 

* * *

 

It was much to his surprise when he heard that Lethuin had brought in three elves that the night guard had found wandering during their nightly patrol of the outskirts of Mirkwood. And it was much to Feren’s disbelief that all three were familiar faces. One, the fiesty ex-captain of the guard who had been banished from Mirkwood, and the other two, elves from Imladris that he had a brief encounter with at Dale. All three of which he hadn’t seen since the Battle of Five Armies. And two of which whom, if he recalled correctly, had left the Elvenking on disagreeable terms.

The issue wasn’t their presence, but rather who they were. Ever since the war had ended, Thranduil seemed to be more receptive with the company that was allowed within his territories, and things slowly started to change for the better. Mirkwood was no longer in isolation and relations were built with neighboring areas. But seeing that two out of the three (well, might as well three out of three by association) of the elves had left the Elvenking on a sour note, Feren was put in a dilemma. There was no way he could lie to his king and deny the identity of the three if asked, but there was no way he’d chance getting Thranduil angered either if the Elvenking were to recognize them for who they were. The elven guard wasn’t quite sure what the best way to approach the situation, if there was a best way at all. But the question was all revolved around the word ‘ _if’_ and _if_ the trio would cross paths with Thranduil.

Granted, Feren wasn’t really sure if Thranduil would be angered in the first place, but it was a risk that he would rather not take in finding out. He had been cautiously optimistic that Thranduil’s mood was changing for the better, but he knew fully well how quickly things could change at the drop of a hat. Best case scenario was if the two parties avoided each other completely, and the worst case scenario was the exact opposite. It was only a sheer stroke of luck that that night happened to be one where he found the Elvenking absent from the vast underground halls.

Ever since they had returned from Erebor, the Elvenking would occasionally leave the grounds of his chambers at nighttime, only to return in the morning. He was never gone for long, so Feren assumed that it might have been to perhaps patrol the lands, but upon talking to the guards who protected their boarders, he was surprised to hear that none of them had ever seen the Elvenking leave. It was a mystery to him, but Feren knew that Thranduil had his own matters to attend to as well as his own reasons for leaving, so the elven guard never raised any questions about the midnight escapades.

But now the question was when his king would return. If it was before the elves left, then he would have to explain that yes, even if one of them was banished, that they had simply followed Thranduil’s orders, but if not . . . then perhaps it could be left unmentioned and that there were just a group of elves passing by—no need to mention names. Feren’s mental debate was interrupted by the soft pitter patter of footsteps drawing closer, followed by a presence of one of the three elves that was subject in his mental debacle. It was the female elf of Imladris, her expression seemed to be unreadable until she made eye contact with Feren to which she quickly bowed her head in acknowledgement before approaching him.

“The moon shines upon us brightly tonight,” she greeted him with a small nod of acknowledgement.

“And may its light fall upon Arda for many years to come,” came the reply from the male elf, mirroring her motions.

“I’m sorry to intrude upon your thoughts, but I just wanted to apologize for any inconvenience we have brought upon you all with our presence here,” her words were sincere as she offered a small apologetic smile with her greeting.

“No, it would be better if you were here than out in the forests at night. Lord Thranduil has ordered that no one aside the captain of the guards and the night watch be in the woods at night.” Feren paused as he gathered his thoughts, “While we are bound by his decree, it would also bring us great sadness if we were to find out that someone had perished within our forest realm. I fear dark times are ahead for, the life in these woods have been growing dimmer each passing year,”

“I pray it is not an omen of times to come. Another war would only bring more tragedy upon us,” Feren nodded in agreement at the female’s word, as silence crept into the conversation.

“To speak of such times, I believe it was under the setting of such conflict where we have met before,” she spoke once more, breaking the silence that had fallen, “I’m afraid I was not as keen as to be able to catch your name back then,”

“Indeed, it was back at Dale several years past amidst the battle against the foul creatures of darkness,” Feren replied with a light smile. Perhaps the female elf wasn’t as hot tempered as he originally had thought, “I am called Feren,”

“It’s it nice to be able to put a name to the face, Feren, it’s a pleasure. They call me Esteliel. I must apologize for the way I acted back there, it was rather unbecoming of me. I do not believe my mind was in its proper place,”

This earned her a chuckle from the otherwise stoic guard who seemed to be trying to hide his amusement now, “I am surely the wrong person to offer those sentiments to, for you have done no wrong towards me.” He seemed to read her thoughts about the Elvenking for he continued talking, “Unfortunately, Lord Thranduil is away at the moment, so any apology towards him will have to be further delayed, but I pray he will let bygones be bygones for things of the past cannot be undone,” He ended off with a small smile. He seemed to have gotten the wrong impression of her when they had first met in Dale for the elf who he was talking to bore little semblance to the headstrong one that had waged a war on word with Thranduil those several years past. “But what of the rest of your company? There were three of you in total were there not?”

“They’ve chosen to take this time to rest their minds before we continue on,”

“And what of you?”

“Rest, has been a very hard thing for me to come by these days,” she replied wryly, “We plan to leave at dawn, as to leave your kingship undisturbed, I think that would be best considering that Tauriel has expressed her concerns of returning here.”

“It is understandable,” Feren replied. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps there was a slimmer of a change that they would leave before Thranduil even returned. For now, that was the only thing he was banking on, “And what are you to do until then?”

“I am unsure.” came her reply, “Perhaps you could offer some assistance in that aspect. I’m afraid I am not well acquainted with these Woodland Realms,”

“Truth be told there is not much that can be done at nighttime, for the surrounding forests are off limits as you are well aware. But if it is sights you wish to see, there is a small enclosure near our eastern borders. It provides but a humble view of the majesty of the night sky in the company of various flowers that grace our woods. A garden that has many plants native to our lands, I cannot recommend anything more beautiful that it. There have been many other places of beauty throughout Mirkwood, but I’m afraid they have all but dwindled down to those that lie within the borders of our lands,”

“I believe Tauriel spoke of this garden to me earlier, she also mentioned something of a hidden door?”

“So the rumors have reached your ears as well,” Feren chuckled, not hiding his look of surprise, “Whether it is a door or just a stone with markings can be left for interpretation,”

“And what do you think of it?”

“My Lady, I am not one to believe in rumors, but I do not stop you from making your own judgment with your own eyes.”

 

* * *

 

Delicate golden lights of fireflies danced around her as Esteliel found herself alone for the first time that night in a small enclosure that laid in between the Elvenking’s Halls and the rushing tides of the river that flowed alongside the border. Lush grass sprawled out from beneath her feet, bulbs of various woodland flowers turning their heads towards the moonlight surrounding her. There was a small pool, surrounded by various rocks of similar sizes, the clear water providing a direct reflection of the myriads of stars that dusted the night sky. A lone cobblestone wall encircled the area, towering overhead, shielded by the giant trees that surrounded the area. There was a small archway in the wall that hovered over the river, bridging across the water that allowing it to flow from the outside in. Simplicity seemed to be a common theme throughout the halls that extended into the very garden she found herself in—simplicity and practicality with a mixture of elegance. Rich vines of ivy sprawled across the wall, covering it in a sea of green, strings of small white flowers entwined within the green, reminiscent of the chambers her, Tauriel and Aenor were brought to prior. Their translucent petals seemed to catch aglow in the light of the moon as she made her way alongside the various colored flowers that lined the path.

_“Hidden beneath an ivy alcove behind the reflecting pool that stands behind the various plants of different shapes and sizes. . .”_

Tauriel’s description echoed through her head as she surveyed the grand wall of ivy that shielded the garden from the danger of the outside forest. _They are only rumors,_ she told herself as she looked up and down the concave walls several times. As silly as it was, she found herself drawn into the curiosity of the story painted by both Tauriel and Feren. She was doubtful that it bore much truth, but curious nonetheless. Her thoughts were put to a stop as her gaze rested upon a curtain of the leafy tendrils hanging in front of a something that seemed to be a part of the wall that was dented inwards.

It matched the copper-haired elf’s description, behind a pool clear as diamonds, mirroring the skies that glimmered overhead.

 _They are just rumors_ , she repeated the mantra as she tentatively drew herself forth, drawing the tresses of ivy away. At first glance, it seemed as if she was looking at a mere slab of stone, just slightly indented into the surrounding walls, the only indication that it wasn’t any just type of stone was the color of it. It was slightly off compared to the surrounding tone of a rich earthy gray, but it was when the moonlight struck it did a single inscription upon it seem to come to life and glow.

 _Surely it’s a trick of light_ , she thought to herself as she studied the so called ‘door’, there were runes carvings on there that she could not read, but it was as Tauriel had said, a lone inscription in elvish adorned the top glowed in the silver rays of moonlight that shone on it, asking for the answer to the question that was etched ever so lightly onto its surface.

_Speak my name and enter._

“Speak my name . . .” she repeated thoughtfully. Did doors even have names? " _Ennyn_ ” she spoke aloud the elvish word for ‘door’ but unsurprisingly, nothing happened. She could only laugh softly at the silly antics, “It was worth a try,” she mused as she withdrew her hand from the side, allowing the vines to cascade back down to their original place, the faint glow of the inscription ebbing away back into the darkness. As she turned back towards the flowers that lined the grounds in front of her, she caught glimpse of her own reflection in the pool. There was a pause in her steps as she took time to ponder things over.

“Speak my name and enter . . “ she repeated once more as she stared at the reflection that started back at her, “my name . . . it couldn’t be,” she murmured under her breath. Surely it wasn't that simple.

Elvish names were all unique, normally no two elves would possess the same name if it was known that the name was already taken. It had been explained to her that having someone else’s name was almost as if you were trying to impersonate that person—and it was viewed as being extremely disrespectful. Similarly the reason why no names in relation to Eru or the Valar were ever used, for it would be as if one was trying to impersonate a god. But as far as she knew, there was none who shared her name. And even though chances were infinitesimal of anything happening, she found herself facing the curtain of ivy once more, saying but a single word that resonated into the silence night, _“Esteliel,”_

A faint rumble greeted her from behind the wall of ivy as if something had shifted, and then there was silence once more.

 

* * *

 

The first thing her that caught her attention was a familiar floral scent that reminded her of the woodands of Lothlórien. A flowery scent that wafted into the air reminded her of springtime, right when the flowers first started to bloom. It was nostalgic, but to her, it felt as if she had walked into a dream. And it was with great care and caution that she gently pushed aside the tendrils that fell in front of the entrance once more, only to see that sure enough, there was an opening—what was on the other side, she could not see.

 _‘I must be dreaming,_ ’ her thoughts were in disarray as she found herself drawn towards the entrance as if hypnotized, slipping inside only to be greeted by another wall of ivy. She felt the rumble of the stone behind her, returning into its original place, as if nothing had happened. Closing her eyes tightly, she counted to five before she reopened them, half hoping that she was just imaging things that had just taken place and that she was simply delusional. But upon opening her eyes, the curtain of green still stood before her, the scent of a spring breeze once more overtaking her senses. Drawing in a deep breath, with a resound motion, she drew aside the second curtain of ivy only to be greeted by a sight that took her breath away.

A field of golden flowers stretched well off into the distance, most of them a beautiful silver-gold color underneath the glow of moonlight. It was a sight that could have easily been straight out from a dream. Petals of translucent white glowed beneath to moonlight sky above, entwining themselves amongst the surrounding trees. The stone faces of the walls seemed to stretch well past the borders than she had originally thought giving way to a valley of flowers hidden between the grand halls of Mirkwoods and the walls that enclosed it. One would have never been able to tell from the outside or from within for it cleverly shielded itself from view along with the secrets that laid within.

A gentle wind caressed her face once more, wafting the fragrant scent of flowers bringing her to her senses for the first time since she stepped foot within the secret garden. It smelled of home and it smelled of spring. Two things that seemed very out of place. It was then when she noticed the flowers that bloomed across of her feet—a sea of splendid gold waves cheerfully in front of her. They seemed oddly familiar, as if she had seen them before somewhere-- golden flowers the shape of stars. Taking a few slow step forward, as to not disturb any of the foliage that bloomed, she knelt down and studied the small flowers that merrily looked up into the sky.

“ _Elanor_ ,” she murmured in surprise at her discovery that they were in fact Lothlórien flowers. Her next question, however, passed through her mind instead of her lips. What were flowers native to Lothlórien be doing in Mirkwood? And for them to be in full bloom in the fall when they were supposed to only bloom in spring, surely this was some sort of trick. But she could feel no presence of ill-will in the sea of gold that surrounded her, only a feeling of calm. Gently, her hands cupped around several of the golden star shaped blossoms that perched atop their stems, bringing them closer to her face before she closed her eyes and inhaled. The sweet scent of spring and honey filled her mind once more, bringing her the nostalgia of the joy of the seasons past. There was no way that they were not real.

Upon opening her eyes, her eyes slowly looked around towards the other flowers that bloomed off to the side, pale flowers of Niphredil that only bloomed in winter also could be seen, blossomed fully underneath the moonlight. There were also flowers from Imladris too that she also recognized along with many others that were foreign to her, small white petals that fluttered in the breeze to petals of vivid blues that hung from branches overhead. Above her, a nearly cloudless view of the skies as the lone moon seemed to be the only thing that kept her company in the sea of flowers that decorated the land before her. The river that flowed through the garden from which she came also flowed through the secret garden within the walls, laughing around the bend before babbling out of sight around the corners that hugged the borders of the Elvenking’s halls.

There was a soft stir in the air as something floated down onto the ground, carried by the breeze and settling into the field of soft gold. It was another flower that she was all too familiar with, for within the flowering patch of Elanor, a lone golden flower stared back at her. It was a pale gold, but it shone with the same brilliance as the sun. A flower of _mallorn_. But it was impossible, for the only trees of _mallorn_ were located in Lothlórien, silver in bark but golden in bloom. Yet her current surroundings seemed to prove all of her original beliefs untrue.

She stared from the flowers of elanor to the flower of mallorn once more, mind reeling with questions with no one to direct them to. It was impossible. That for flowers all across middle earth to be blooming in unison, but what was displayed in front of her was a direct contradiction. It was as if there was some sort of harmonious power that allowed for the plants to thrive-- like it was an eternal spring. Her meandering thoughts drew her back to the flower that rested upon the beds of elanor. If there was a mallorn flower, then surely there was a tree . . . Rising to her feet, with the goldn mallon flower netted gently in the palm of her hand, she could only stare transfixed at the lone petals that originated from her homeland. She found herself being enraptured by the blossom, lost in thought and mind astray. But it was when she looked up from the golden flower of Lorien did nearly dropped it.

A figure now stood before her, clad in silver fabrics that outlined his lithe body structure, silk-like fabrics of red flowing from his arms and into the wind. Adorned upon his head, similar in color, a lone crown created by a series of interwoven branches mixed in with the red foliage and berries that could only be reminiscent of fall. Eyes of icy blue met her own. There was a look of genuine shock that passed before the ligh blue eyes before they turned unreadable to her as she found herself frozen in the presence of the Elvenking Thranduil.

It was as much of a shock to her as it was to him apparently, for both stood frozen, as if time stood still. Neither of them moving as small gusts of wind encircled them, the gentle winds blowing the lone flower of mallorn from the palm of her hand, sending it gliding down onto the golden flowers of Elanor that stood in front of the Elvenking’s feet.

 

* * *

 

A look of blank shock that registered across his face as he found his feet glued frozen to the ground, his vocal chords rendered speechless. The eyes that bore into his own were of a color that reminded him of the mist upon a vast sea, with a warmth that that reminded him of the passing of seasons from winter to spring. In his mind he knew it could not be, yet there was an undeniable feeling of familiarity that chilled his body to the core. And for a split second, he could have sworn he was looking at a ghost of times past.

It was then within the fields of gold, with mind and body transfixed upon that moment of time, did he feel a crack form upon the icy exterior that had shielded his heart for years end-- a lone memory escaping from the depths of times gone by.

He remembered her love for flowers. It was one of the first things that she had given him as a token of appreciation when she first visited Mirkwood. While others would often bestow gifts of emeralds, rubies, and other precious gems upon the prince, she had presented him with a lone flower of Elanor, a flower that was native to her homelands of Lothlórien. He didn’t know why at the time, but it was the simplicity of her gift that made a lasting impression in his memory. A golden glow that made even the most beautiful of gems seem dull. He was too hesitant back then, missing his chance to say 'thank you' to her due to his nerves getting the best of him, but he remembered watching her leave Mirkwood with her family, how her silver hair seemed to glow in the sunlight. It was only then, as the Lothorien elves crossed the bridge disappearing into the wooded forests when he was finally able to utter the words that she would never hear. 

_"Ant dhîn vîr mi 'ûr nîn"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anthon 'uren anden_ \- I give you my heart  
>  _Ennyn_ \- Door  
>  _Niphredil_ \- Snowdrop - Pale white flowers native to Lothlórien  
>  _Elanor_ \- Golden star-shaped flowers native to Lothlórien  
>  _Ant dhîn vîr mi 'ûr nîn_ \- I shall treasure your gift in my heart
> 
> FINALLY AN UPDATEEEE! Not gonna lie, I got somewhat stuck in a rut writing this chapter which is why it took so long to upload. I scrapped my original idea and had to come up with a new one (That in itself took like two weeks LOL) One of the alternatives I had was having Esteliel and Thranduil not meet in this chapter. . . but I really didn't like that option, so I had to think of something else and this is the final result that I ended up with.
> 
> This chapter serves as somewhat of a backbone of their past from Thranduil's point of view, giving some insight into the moments in time that he holds dear and an explanation behind the necklace that played a pivotal role in BoFA. Actually in genereal, there was a lot of flashbacks and what not, so if anyone needs help in differentiating what is what, feel free to ask! (I tried to make anything said in flashbacks in italics if that helps).
> 
> The secret garden thingy will be elaborated upon in the next chapter. It originally wasn't in my inital draft, but since I had to change the chapter mid-way it was the only thing that I could think of at the time LOL
> 
> ANYWAYS, I'm still in the process of brainstorming what's going to happen in the next chapter because there are like two distinct routes that I can choose LOL so I'm trying to weigh out the pro and cons of each and how each would affect the later plot, so it might be slowwww updates from here on out. I think I have an idea about where I want the story to head, but that can always change because I am probably the most indecisive person in the world.
> 
> On a completely different note, I made a tumblr relating to this fic, it's centrally focused on Esteliel and her past. It's more of an askblog and a place for me to doodle, but feel free to check it out @asktheelvenqueen on tumblr! There are some hints of things that might happen and some teasers of things that have happened in the past that relate to Last Farewell! Also if you want to ask a question for me to doodle and answer to, feel free to! :) I'll be somewhat busy in between there and here, so just an FYI on that! (Because doodling give me to some time to think . . . and procratinate HAHAHA)


	8. A Memory

A bone mace riddled in grime and blood; it was clearly the remnants of some unfortunate creature’s spine turned into a tool for destruction—a weapon shaped so cruelly that it was almost repulsive to look at, mirroring its owner’s bloodlust and hunger for carnage.

He was cunning, sadistic, and showed no remorse; instead relishing at the number of elvish bodies that were slain that day. His skin was the palest of blues, riddled with battle scars as a testament to his prowess in battle. But the thing that Thranduil remembered the most were those hetero-chromatic eyes that were laced with a merciless pride as he took away everything that the Elvenking had cherished on that fateful day.  

* * *

  
Thranduil was there when she was struck from behind by a bone-riddled club, piercing her armor and slicing through it as if it were nothing. He remembered everything. The dark clandestine sky that brewed overhead, the smell of filth and of ruin, the feeling of a dreadful premonition, the sound of a weapon slicing triumphantly through elvish armor, and the sound of his voice filling the air with a heart wrenching scream that echoed across the battlefield.

He remembered how it all played out in slow motion in front of him, eyes widening in horror as he witnessed her body slowly crumpling to the ground, leaving behind a horrible screech as the silver armor around her body fell in contact to the broken slabs of stone, slowly painting them a crimson red. Her attacker, the twisted orcan chief, had met the Elvenking’s gaze, sending him a sneer as if proclaiming victory before slamming the blunt side of his weapon into the elleth’s body for good measure and walking away back into the chaos of war as if declaring victory.

  
Her eyes were faint by the time he reached her, a dull gray had over taken the misty blue hues that reflected into his own; the color of the clouds that shrouded the moon at night, the color of the fine mist upon the vast reflection pool that was found in their garden in the mornings.

 _Iestil._  

* * *

  
If there was one regret that Thranduil had, it was that he was unable to recover her body-- that he was unable to give her the proper burial she deserved. It was a thought that often replayed in his head of what if he had stayed to find her body? What if he could put her to rest in the dignified manner in which she had deserved? But hundreds of corpses littered the hills of Gundabad, fallen like the leaves had done come autumn time, each one blending into the next, creating a mixture of silver and muck. The orcan casualties far outnumbered their own, forming a sea of rotten decay alongside the bodies of the elves that had fallen, but while the black outweighed the fallen silver armor that glimmered into the dusk-- no matter how much he looked at it, it felt like a loss.

  
The orcan chieftain, on the other hand, had withdrawn his army into the darkness of the shadows that grew as night had fallen, seeming to relish in the fact that he had taken out a key player of the elven army—the Woodland queen. Had it not have been her who had been slain, surely the battle would have continued until either he or Thranduil had been slain. But in the foul creature’s eyes, he took it as a victory. It was blow to the morale of the elves – something that he could take advantage of the next time, if their paths were to cross again.  

* * *

 Deep within his conscience, Thranduil knew that it was not wise to stay,and  deep down he knew the correct move would be to cut their losses and return to MIrkwood in case of another ambush, but his heart retaliated against him. Iestil. His wife. His queen. _His life_. She was the only thing on his mind, her dull silvery eyes, her bloodstained hair, the hollow voice that whispered parting words, all replayed over and over in his head like a broken melody, rendering his brain into some out of tune cacophony. It broke him.

His lieutenants were the ones who had to physically restrain him from returning to battlegrounds and it was his lieutenants that were the ones who stood by him as they journeyed back to Mirkwood, watching over him, true to their position—to protect their king no matter what. If it weren’t for them, he would have scavenged the whole battleground for her, no matter how long it took. But that also meant risking his own life to find someone that couldn’t be saved-- someone that couldn’t be returned. It had pained Thranduil’s second in command to see his king in such internal agony, but the younger elf knew that their priority at that moment was to return his king back to his kingdom. For what was a kingdom without a ruler?

It took a lot of coaxing to get Thranduil to leave that day, to quell the fits of rage when he refused to leave the battleground, eyes glazed with pain and words drenched in anguish as the sense of loss was far too great. It took a group of his men to physically restrain him from doing anything rash, but ultimately it was the words of his right hand who said, _“She would have wanted you safe,”_ that dragged him back down to earth. And it was as he gazed upon the corpse-ridden battlefield did he remember her words before they had left for battle,

_‘No matter what may happen, your safely is my priority. You will return home, Meleth Nîn, you will return to these realms. I will see to it,’_

But at what cost?  
  
Yet it was at those words when the Elvenking allowed for the adrenaline that rages through his blood to subside and ebb away from his body, and for his army to lead him away from the hills of Gundabad, headed South towards Mirkwood. A march, which only could be described as solemn and grave—there was no celebration for there was nothing to celebrate about. The soldiers who survived that day wept for the loss of their queen, faces tear stained and hearts heavy with grief they guided their lone ruler back to his throne one step at a time.

He felt very little on that road back, it was almost as if he had turned into an empty husk of a person—devoid of emotion and numb of all feeling. His body was moving, and yet he felt nothing. There was an emptiness that chilled his whole body. She was not the only thing that he lost that day, for with her death, he had also lost a piece of himself. And with each passing step of his elk, he felt less and less attuned to his surroundings—each step felt heavier than the next. It felt as if nothing mattered to him anymore-- the only thing that reminded him that he was still alive was the ever beating rhythm of his heart, a rhythm that he now cursed.

  
He found it to be terribly ironic, that it was not the first time where he had marched back home from battle without a loved one. It was eerily reminiscent of when he returned from the Battle of the Last Alliance, the battle in which he had lost his father along with over half of their army. He remembered how he had struggled to cope with the harsh reality of ascending to his father’s position as a result, how that the transition happened immediately from prince to king. He had felt the pain and sense of loss then, but it was nothing compared to the heartache and torment he felt returning from Gundabad.

  
She had been the one who had been there to support him after the loss of his father, she was there to extinguish all the doubts he had of his ability to rule, and she was there to pull him out of this darkness of self-blame and the memories that haunted him. But this time it was different. This time, it felt as if someone ripped out his heart and thoroughly stomped upon it until it was broken beyond repair. And this time, she wouldn’t be there to pick up and mend the pieces. And she would never be there ever again.  
  
The woodland realms had lost their queen. And he had lost his wife. His everything. And there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

  
For many days after his return, the air was solemn. He had sent a messenger to deliver the news to their neighboring realms of Lothlórien and to Imladris that she had been slain in battle. It was a simple message written, straightforward and to the point. He had his best scribe write it, for his hands shook too much to even form a legible word in elvish.

  
Part of him wanted to deliver the news in person as it would have been the proper thing to do, but he could not bear to see the reactions of her loved ones as he had not fully recovered himself. _‘She should have never died to begin with,’_ were the words that wanted to write, but they remained nothing more than thoughts of mulled regret in his head.

  
It was only several days later when his messengers returned with replies, but even then, he couldn’t bear to read, let alone open the pieces of delicate parchment. But along with each scroll, came a single flower, one from her parents in Lothlórien, and one from her sister in Imladris. A lone star-shaped flower from the Lady and Lord of Lorien, and a pale white flower that had the vibrancy of the moon from her sister. They were a tribute to the very flowers she loved most, and a most bittersweet way of saying farewell. 

* * *

 She was the most radiant around flowers, he’d often recall her smile as they would stroll through their gardens at night, taking time to admire the bulbs that would eventually come into bloom. He had taken her to see his father’s gardens the first time they had met, and he could still remember the way her eyes lit up with awe as she looked around, admiring the scents and colors of the flora around her. It wasn’t until after Oropher’s death when he decided to close the gardens off, making them private.

A wall was built cutting the inside off from the rest of the world. It was a place that his father had painstakingly created when they had first relocated from the treetops of Greenwood. To others, it could have been viewed as a tribute to the fallen king who found beauty in nature, but to him, it was much more than a simple tribute. It was a place that contained his father’s love, a father’s love which he would never feel again. And even though he knew it was selfish, he wanted to keep it to himself.  
  
The garden was a place where he’d find himself in silence, lost in an array of thoughts, a place he would come to escape the whispers and murmurs that filled his halls after his father’s passing. It was originally a place for him to seek refuge in, but it soon became a way for Thranduil to cope-- for him to recover. It was a safe haven where he could be surrounded by nothing but nature, a place where the outside world couldn't interfere with the internal war that brewed within him. A place where the nightmares of the past couldn’t reach him. It was a place that reminded him of his father’s love and the comfort of her smile.

  
It was support, not pity, that she had shown him during that prolonged period of grief. It was something which, he realized after her passing, he had took too much for granted.

  
While most of his advisers were trying to ask him questions relating to his new found kingship, she provided the much needed comfort of silence. He had felt lost and alone, struggling to find his own identity. Too long he had just been known as the son of Oropher. But at that moment in time, he was no longer a prince, but a king. And honestly, it frightened him. Was he worthy of the throne in which his father once ruled upon? Was he even fit to be a leader to his people? Or would he only lead them to the path of ruin and despair?

  
But her constant presence quelled the nerves that shook him. And more often than not, he’d find her sitting by his side at night in silence as the two of them would look upon on the stars among the small blossoms of flowers that surrounded them-- the only sound was the soft sound of rushing water by an adjacent stream reminding them both that time was still ticking away. It was moments like that which filled him with a warmth that he had not felt since the day he had left for war. Tranquility.

And it was within those closed walls where he grew to love flowers as much as she had. And it was within those walls where he regained his composure and confidence, where he regained his mind back from the waves of self-doubt that once clouded over his mind. And as the weeks passed and turned into months, he had changed. Changed into someone who was no longer a prince standing in the shadows of his fallen father, but a king, someone who could rightfully rule upon the woodland throne as his father had once done—king, of the woodland realms. 

* * *

 But it was beginning then that every year like an unspoken promise, he would receive two flowers as tribute to her passing, one from her parents in Lothlórien and the other from her sister in Imladris. And every year, he would plant them into the garden that they had often sought solace in. They were just a memory, but they were a reminder to him. That she existed. That he truly did love her more than anything in the world. But they were a memory, and nothing more. Mere flowers would never bring back what he yearned for all this time. It was a foolish sentiment. But if he was a fool, then so be it.  
  
Even after her passing, he would retreat behind the walls of ivy, behind the tendrils that separated him from the rest of the kingdom. It was different now. The silence was never the same without her, but it was within those walls where he felt at peace. It was a place created from his father’s love, and where her love kept it thriving. It was a love which he did not wish to share with the rest of the world. A love, which he had kept to himself in secret-- it was a selfish secret. And once again, he knew was a foolish sentiment, but it was something he wouldn’t mind being called selfish for.  
  
And yet now, it was as if he had seen a ghost, a splitting image that often haunted his memories, but as he blinked again, she was gone—only to be replaced by reality and the elleth whose eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to _hers_. Blue. Like the cloudy peaks of the mountain tops during the winter, like the light snow that refracted the colors of the sky upon it—an ethereal misty blue which sent his inner mind reeling with emotion.  
  
His lips parted to speak, but no words came out, instead, his eyes shifted and fell upon the golden flowers that shone merrily at his feet as his mouth closed once more, prolonging the silence even further. There was only one word that came in his mind. One name that made his heart ache with a mixture of pain and longing, a name which was like a passing breeze to him now, tantalizing yet unobtainable.  
  
_Iestil._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOOO! FINALLY AN UPDATE! AFTER LIKE 5 MONTHS I AM SORRY. (also sorry this chapter is super short and didn’t really go anywhere . . . . lol ) I got distracted by a lot of things and honestly did not know how to finish the chapter so I kinda cut it off right before the confrontation because I’m still not sure if I want to make Thranduil and ass or if I want to go a different route now that the extended edition/behind the scenes are now out. On that note, a lot of my headcanons were confirmed regarding the elvenqueen/Thranduil’s portrayal through BOFA, but where his character leaves off is the part that is stumping me right now. Like in the behind the scenes, they were like Thrandui’s personality changed for the better after BOFA but idk, I feel like yes he changed (as mentioned in the previous chapter by Feren), but it’s more like to what extent and under what circumstances. Sorry if I’m rambling lol I just have a lot of back and forth in my drafts of what seems plausible and what doesn’t.
> 
> So there have been a lot of scrapping and re-writing on my end which is why this chapter is super short. (It’s ironic because like I have a general idea of how I want to story to progress after this scene, but I can only get to that after these next several chapters end LOL but I WILL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT. Eventually. In the meantime, gonna work on some outlines for Prelude to Spring as well as a lot more artwork for the askblog! (whoo whoo more backstory LOL But Happy super belated 2016! I am alive and kicking and will do my best to update in a more timely fashion. :)
> 
> Also side note: A lot of the backstory that was mentioned in this chapter (and probably the next since I cut this one short) along with previously mentioned chapters will be elaborated more upon in Prelude to Spring! 
> 
>  
> 
> **Headcanons for this Chapter**
> 
>  
> 
>  **The Secret Garden:** Originally his father’s, Thranduil closed it off after Oropher’s death. It was later cared for by Esteliel when she was betrothed to him/ during his grieving period. It was a place, later on, designated as a safe haven to raise Legolas in as a baby. (So he could ‘meet’ his grandfather in a way if that makes sense) After his wife’s death, Thranduil often secluded himself to the gardens for nights on end to cope. (And one of the methods he found to help was by planting the flowers of elanor which she loved so dearly in honor of her memory. It holds memories of both his father and of his wife, which is why it is a place of such high importance to him.


End file.
